


Dreams and Fantasies

by LadyCorvidae, roseforthethorns



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "Hunting", 69, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Betting, Clothing Porn, Daddy Kink, Daisy chains, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Domestic, Double Penetration, Emotional Healing, F/F, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Fluff, Foursome- F/M/M/M, Guy on Guy, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Jerk!Sherlock, Jimcest - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Bondage, Love Letters, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Present Tense, Punk, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self esteem boost, Sex, Sub playtime, Super steamy, Tattoo Kink, The Chase, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome- F/F/M, Twincest, Twins, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, Voyeurism, dub-con, second person narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 177
Words: 216,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/pseuds/LadyCorvidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various scenarios of various Sherlock characters doing unspeakably filthy things to "you," the reader and observer. A bit unorthodox yes, but we approached it kind of with the attitude of a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. Give it a shot.</p>
<p>(I own nothing of these characters. All Sherlock rights go to the BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss. I'm just having some fun.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Dressed Up- Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I am in the debt of my co-writer, ladycorvidae. In fact, it was her suggestion of "Sherlock with a ponytail" at one point that got us thinking, and thus this was born. We write it in chunks and send them to each other, each trying to one up the other. So far, it's been extremely interesting. No set chapter limit, because we have no idea how far we will go. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're attending a ball on the request of your family, and Sherlock Holmes has asked you to meet him in a room down the hall after a wonderful dance. Curious, you knock on the door...

Sherlock stands there, hands clasped behind his back with a riding crop in his hands. His back is to you as you shut the door, and he's lit only by candlelight. When he turns, it takes your breath away because he is an absolute vision. His expression is stern and intense; you have no hope of discerning the color of his eyes tonight. They seem blue and then silver one moment and then green tinged with gold the next. He's dressed in a deep plum shirt underneath a black waistcoat; there is a gold watch chain visible in one pocket. His breeches are tailored and tight, leaving nothing to the imagination, and his boots come up just to his knees, giving him a few more inches on his already impressive height. As he slowly strides toward you, he's looking you up and down, both deducing and undressing you with his mind until he's standing behind you. You feel the crop trail along your spine through your dress and you shiver. The next thing you feel are his lips against your neck

He doesn't speak yet, just kisses and sucks gently at the place where your neck becomes your shoulder. His tongue is warm and damp and ever so slightly rough against your skin. His hands come up to gently grip your upper arms, the crop still in his right hand; you can feel it pressing against your arm. Finally, he's grown bored with that and turns you slowly to face him for the first time up close. His hands come up to cup your face as he seems to memorize every single detail there is before leaning in and just brushing his lips against yours. After an agonizingly long second, he claims your mouth for his own, sucking on your lips before plunging his tongue, his clever, talented tongue into your mouth. He teaches yours to dance with his, how to properly twine and stroke and tease, and when Sherlock breaks the embrace, you are dazed and feeling thoroughly kissed.  
Then he orders you to strip. It's the first word he's spoken since you entered the room.

You curse your bad fortune of having a family that insists you look proper whenever you leave the house, so the bodice of your dress comes first. Your fingers fumble with the laces for a few seconds before they come loose, and you're able to pull them slowly away. You feel several pounds lighter as you step from the deep emerald gown you wore to the ball. Your corset is next but he stops you by raising his hand, signaling for you to turn. You do. You hear him set the crop down, and then his fingers are at your back, and you can suddenly breathe for the first time all night as he rips the offending garment from your frame. He holds you in place once it's free and you're standing there in your shift and bloomers as he lowers his lips to your shoulders. His long, pale fingers trace up and down your arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. You wish he'd kiss you again, but he's taking his time, learning your body better than you'll ever know it yourself. He reaches around and unfastens the ties at the front of your shift, and it slides off your shoulders. His hands follow and settle at your hips as he slowly presses you back until you are flush with him. You can feel him straining through his breeches. He's still fully clothed.

Feeling bold, you rock back against him gently, and the resulting hiss makes you very pleased. He clearly decides that the time for games is over as suddenly you're facing him and he's kissing you hard enough to make your knees weak. You wrap your arms around his neck, one hand settling in his dark curls as you hold on for dear life, barely aware of when he maneuvers you onto the rather large bed in the chamber. Once you're lying back against the pillows, he stands once more and starts to strip, clearly intent on teasing again. It's criminal how long it takes for him to divest himself of his waistcoat, and you don't realize how much saliva is in your mouth until he starts to unbutton the plum shirt, revealing ever-so-slowly the cool, creamy expanse of his chest and you are forced to swallow rather hard. He also pulls off his boots and drops them to the floor, leaving him in his breeches and you in your bloomers. He eyes your half-naked form and reaches for the crop, stretching out his arm to let the leather trail on from your collarbone, between your breasts and down your stomach in a feather-light touch. He smirks.

You struggle to suppress a shiver at the leather on your bare flesh, but your body betrays you and sends up more goose bumps on your arms and legs, making you shiver even harder. He looks satisfied and walks around the bed until he stands at your side, still observing. The intensity of his gaze makes you want to drown in his eyes. The end of the crop comes up to slide down your cheek, and your eyes flutter shut as you lean into the touch. Suddenly, you're aware that his face is mere centimeters from your own, and when you open your eyes, his are right there, boring into your very soul. The desire and physical ache for his touch and his kiss nearly drives you mad as you both stare into each other's eyes, the silence finally broken as you whisper his name: a prayer, a plea.

You see something akin to delight sparkle in his gaze (blue with gold flecks now), and you are rewarded with the merest hint of lips on your own. In the time it takes you to smile, you are suddenly caged by his arms and legs, the bed creaking and rocking slightly as he has moved so fast to mount it and hover over you. Your eyes widen as he looms, and you see his pupils start to dilate, pressing the color towards the edge, almost ice grey color ringing pure, primal black. You know your eyes must be in a similar state. Ever so slowly, you shift your body, bringing your arms up to frame your face and spreading your legs slightly farther apart, your ankles brushing his.

He very clearly likes your new wanton position, especially when he leans close enough to press himself to you, making you gasp; he's rock hard, just for you. You've known he wanted you from the moment your eyes met at the party and from that one dance, when his touch made you tingle and his proximity left you completely breathless. _He_ chose _you_ of all the women there. And now he's rocking against you slowly, a teasing grind of bodies in just the right spot to have you gasping for breath and leave you flushed pink. He lowers his lips and just avoids your mouth in favor of your neck, kissing and licking the pulse point as he grinds down harder. You whimper as you bite your lip, helpless to keep your body from responding to his every touch. He's not even inside you, and yet you're aching and burning for him, the gentle friction not even close to enough. Your eyes widen, however, as he locks gazes with you again and begins to kiss a trail down your body, stopping for a rather long time at your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth and working it slowly until it's hard and extremely tender. When his mouth leaves each one, you moan at the loss, and when his perfect cupid bow mouth (oh, how you've _dreamed_ about that mouth) reaches your stomach, his tongue flicks out and licks a trail that dips into your bellybutton and you arch off the bed slightly, keening for more. He releases the crop long enough to hook his fingers into the waist of your bloomers, his fingers easily undoing the ribbons that hold them to your body.

Your eyes widen even more if possible as he slides the white fabric from your frame, the air from the room suddenly cool as you're revealed to him and making you tremble slightly. You're trying so hard to keep still and let him work. He drops the last garment on the floor before his fingers come back to your body, brushing over you until they dance over your button. You feel your eyes start to roll back and you whimper his name along with a single word.  
" _Please_."  
He raises an eyebrow and does it again, apparently testing to see if you give him the same reaction. Even here, he's still ever the scientist. Your hands make fists in the sheets of the bed and you bite your lip again to try and swallow your sounds. It makes your body burn and tingle, but this incredible genius is still _taking his time_. His unoccupied hand slips down and you feel two fingers gently pressing against your entrance before stroking a few times, slipping slightly in before pulling away and coming up to his mouth. His lips close around his fingers, and he stares at you, head tilted ever so slightly to one side as he licks them clean.

It is nearly impossible for you to take a proper breath of air.

Sherlock crawls back up your body and this time he kisses you without preamble, without warning. You realize you can taste yourself on his tongue, and the combined taste of you and him nearly sends you over the edge. Your fingers slide down his chest and play at the waistband of his breeches. He growls and nips your mouth, reaching down and taking your wrists in one hand. Your eyes go completely dark when he presses your wrists up above your head and into the pillows. He whispers in your ear not to move before releasing you and stripping the rest of his clothes from his body. You suppress a great deal of noise at seeing him revealed for the first time in all his glory. He's at attention and leaking slightly, and you can suddenly feel a rush of warmth between your legs. He notices and smiles before kissing you again, his hand brushing your sex. Your resulting moan is consumed in his mouth.

He chuckles slightly and captures your tongue with his teeth, trapping it so he can suck on it. His hand moves in time with his lips, brushing and tweaking; he clearly delights in making you squirm, but he can no longer wait. Releasing your tongue, he shifts his position and lines up with your entrance, the hand that has been touching you bracing him on the bed and his other hand encircling your wrists again. You long to bury your fingers in his gorgeous dark curls, but touch will clearly be denied tonight. At the first contact of him at your opening, you breathe his name again. His eyes refocus on yours, and you beg for him to touch you, to fill you, to make you his. There is approval in his gaze as he presses in, taking his time to comply with your wishes. He's much larger than you've known before, and you are shaking with anticipation and arousal and desire as he rests completely within you.

Your moan quickly becomes and whimper and then a purr, the desperate ache somewhat assuaged now that you're taken him into your body. Experimentally, he rocks and you cry out, a sound of pure ecstasy. He presses your wrists more firmly into the pillow above your head, trapping you. You are his plaything now, and he fully plans on using you until he's done. You don't mind because you can feel him pressing all the right places, especially when he rubs against that one spot on your outside that's growing more tender by the second. You can hear him grunting slightly with effort, but he's not speaking. You want desperately to hear his voice, but a single look from him says he knows and that he doesn't want you coming too soon.

Your head is pressed so hard into the pillows that all of the veins in your neck are standing out. His teeth brush against them, and part of you wishes he'd go ahead mark you, let everyone know what you've been up to, that you aren't the perfect little child your family would have them believe. But, alas, not tonight, although he does suck hard enough to bring the blood pooling in your face and chest. His chest is starting to glisten with sweat, and his lips travel up to your ear. The first thing you hear him whisper is your name, and you almost come right then. He chuckles, a low, deep, rumbling, sinful purr that you can feel through your connection. Then he describes how he felt seeing you in that emerald dress, how he wanted to take you right there in the ballroom, how his hands brushing against the fabric made it almost impossible to dance with you, and his hasty departure and request that you meet him here was to keep from embarrassing you both. And now that he has you, he requests that you climax with his name on your lips, snapping and circling his hips to punctuate his words. You can barely breathe, all your attention focused on staving off your peak for as long as possible.

He's breathing heavily now and can feel you fighting the inevitable. He whispers his order into your ear, to come for him, only for him, for him now and for no one else, and you are lost. Your eyes crash closed, and you are screaming Sherlock's name with abandon as he drives into you, hard and fast. Overly sensitive now that you've come, every touch is twice as intense. He's stopped his assault and is now rolling and circling his hips with each thrust, hitting new spots inside that you didn't know you had. Suddenly, his lips are back at your ear and his voice fills your head as he describes everything he wants to do to you, how he wants to take you, just exactly how he wants to use his riding crop or wind his fingers through your hair, how he only ever wants to be the one who has you, how no other man is ever allowed to touch you like this, and you're lost _again_ , arching off the bed and shrieking his name, squeezing and fluttering around him and finally pulling his release from him. He rides it out, thrusting erratically until he is utterly spent and lowers himself just to the side of your body. You are sprawled on the bed and completely boneless in pleasure. You are faintly aware of his lips on your shoulder and neck until his hand turns your head and he captures your lips in another kiss, whispering how well you've done, how impressed and intrigued he is by you. He also informs you that he's obtained permission for you to remain the night, and that from the moment you stepped through the door, you were his until dawn.


	2. Sharing a Rabbit- Jim and Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're not quite sure how you've gotten here, but both the World's Only Consulting Criminal and his right hand sniper are looking at you as if you're good enough to eat.

The consulting criminal and the sniper share glances at each other, twin smirks gracing their faces. Seb has his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, Jim's arms are crossed in front of his impeccable Westwood. The criminal starts first, undoing his tie, and Seb follows, taking his hands from his pockets  and unbuttoning his shirt. "Well well...such a _brave_ little rabbit we have here," Jim drawls in that sinful Irish brogue of his. Seb chuckles in agreement, and you're beginning to wonder if this is a bad idea or not. However, you can't be arsed to care as Seb is suddenly behind you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder, his hands on your hips. Jim crosses over to you and leans in. "Now Tiger... don't be greedy. After all, you have to learn to _share_ ," he breathes, his eyes flicking to yours and back to his sniper's again.

Seb huffs and you can feel his breath hot against your skin. "Fine," he grumbles, and he moves back slightly, allowing Jim to slip around behind you and get closer. He imitates what Seb has just done, this time beginning to press kisses along your neck. He catches your earlobe between his teeth and tugs on it lightly. This makes you gasp and whimper a bit, making both of them smile. "Boss, you're not sharing either," Seb says. He's shirtless now, and is pulling impatiently at Jim's collar. "And you're wearing too much."

Jim snickers. "Patience, Tiger, is a virtue. Although, to be honest, so is little rabbit here," he says, fixing you with that intense brown-eyed stare of his. You swallow hard and feel your face heat. "Well?" Jim drawls as he unbuttons his shirt, exposing pale flesh. "Get on with it, then..."

You swallow hard again and start to strip: blouse first, one button at a time. You can hear Seb groan somewhere off to your left, the noise eloquent with want. Jim is just staring at you, watching your every move, unblinking. The blouse is undone, and you let it fall to the floor in a puddle of dark blue fabric. Your skirt is next; you unzip it and slide it past your hips until it pools by your feet in a puddle of black. You're left standing there in your bra and knickers. Both Jim and Seb are focused entirely on you and you chuckle nervously. "No need to be so nervous, little bunny," Seb says. "We really don't bite... that hard," he finishes, leering.

Jim chuckles and discards his shirt. "He's right," he says, working at the button of his trousers. "Not _hard_. Unless, of course... you want us to."

Seb is only in his pants now, and you can see that he clearly is aroused. The sight sends a flare of heat between your legs, and you squirm slightly. Jim chuckles as he catches the brief movement. "Yesss, Tiger cuts a dashing figure, doesn't he," he purrs into your ear. You stifle a moan as his hands move from your hips to trace the underside of your bra. He undoes it deftly and you make a startled noise as it falls away. You cover yourself instinctively. "Oh, we can't have that. Be a love and put your arms down, so we can _see_ you, pet," Jim says, and you comply, your arms slowly moving to your sides. Seb comes up behind you once more and you can feel his arousal pressing into your backside. Feeling a little bolder now, you wriggle against him and he moans, his hands cupping your now-bare breasts. This causes you to give a sharp intake of breath as you feel his warm, callused hands on you.

Jim is seemingly content to watch as Seb gently squeezes your breasts, catching the nipples between his fingers and pinching lightly. You bite your lip, and your eyes flutter closed. When you're able to manage to work them open again, Jim is right in front of you, examining your reaction. "Oooh, she _likes_ that," he says as his clever fingers dance over Sebastian's. They work their way steadily downwards, dipping under the elastic of your knickers to just brush the top of your curls. You squeak in surprise, which makes Seb chuckle. Jim is still in his trousers and you boldly reach out your hands to undo the button and zip of them which he allows.

"Bunnyrabbit is _daring_ ," the sniper purrs into your ear and you nod, not knowing what else to say.

Jim leans in and pauses, his mouth a hairsbreadth from yours. "Let's see about this..." he murmurs and claims your lips in a kiss that you swear you can feel in your soul. He plunders and you give, moaning when he nibbles your bottom lip. Seb growls impatiently and Jim chuckles. "You want a go, Tiger? I don't blame you... our _petite lapin_ is quite the sweet one," he says, his face and lips as flushed as yours must be. Seb turns you around to face him and drinks in your kiss-stung lips and reddened cheeks. He smirks.

"Never leaves anything half-done, does Boss," he says. He brushes a thumb across your cheek, a surprisingly tender gesture from so large and dangerous a man. He bends down and claims your mouth as well, the kiss gentler than Jim's, more exploratory. He kisses you like he's still figuring out the best way to take you. Thinking about who this is and who he works for, you surmise that this isn't too far off the mark. You wind your fingers through his golden curls, and he groans, the sound ricocheting its way down your spine, leaving an impressive tingle there. You nearly screech as you feel another mouth on your shoulder: Jim, kissing his way across your skin. Seb chuckles at your reaction but doesn't let up.

Seb gently slides your pants down and you impatiently kick them away, causing Jim to chuckle. Your head is dizzy with want, and both of these men seem infuriatingly content upon teasing you slowly; you know that at the end of this, you're going to be a shaking, screaming wreck. Any other coherent thoughts are driven from your head when you feel two long, muscular fingers gently stroking your sex through its curls. You gasp, the sound almost a cry. "Jesus, Boss, she's soaked," Seb murmurs. You can nearly _hear_ Jim smirking as another set of fingers joins the ones that are already there, these one smaller and shorter, but no less strong or muscular.

"You may be on to something there, Tiger," he purrs, and you feel your knees go weak as you watch his tongue curl around the digits that were pressed against and inside you. "Oooh, and doesn't she taste _divine_ ," he continues, his eyes beginning to glaze over.

Seb nearly snarls. "Not waiting anymore," he says, his voice dark with longing. You thrill to hear it as he guides you to the bed in the corner and almost throws you down on it, caging your body with his own, blue eyes burning into yours. He nudges your legs apart and fits himself between them, brushing the seam of your sex with the tip of his cock, gathering wetness for the entrance to come. You arch and writhe against him, wanting him, _needing_ him there so badly that it almost makes you scream. You turn your head and through your half-closed eyes, you see Jim watching intently, one hand stroking himself as he watches his Tiger play.

Seb can't hold back a growl as he enters you, slowly seating himself all the way inside of your heat. You gasp, your eyelids fluttering and your eyes almost rolling back in your head. He's big, bigger than anyone you've ever had, and he can sense this. He stops so you can adjust. "F-f- _fuck_ , little rabbit, you're _tight_ ," he moans, his hands curled around your hips, fingernails digging into them slightly. You merely whimper and arch up into him, _needing_ for him to move. This makes him chuckle, and Jim as well who is still watching intently.

He begins to move and you wrap your legs around his hips as he drives into you. The pace is slightly faster and rougher than you're used to, but you don't care, his name on your lips as you beg and plead for more. Jim, still stroking himself, smirks. "Give her what she's asking for, Tiger," he orders, and Seb grins, driving even harder into you. When you're so close to the edge you can almost feel it, he moves away, pulls out. You make a noise of indignation and frustration but he simply moves aside for Jim who takes his place between your thighs. "Oh, little rabbit, it's _my_ turn now," he says, grinning. He dips into you once, twice, three times and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull. Your fingers curl into claws and rake down his back, causing him to hiss in surprise and pleasure and fill you at once. You keen at the invasion, clasping him to you.

Jim rocks into you, his intense brown eyes locked to yours as he snaps his hips. One, two, three, four times, and you're gone, over the edge, keening his name and arching into him, your sex clenching and fluttering around him. His eyes flutter and he groans deep in his throat. He pulls out slowly and comes into his hand, growling little endearments and filthy curses to you. Seb casts you a longing glance and Jim, panting and gasping, nods. The taller man grins wolfishly and enters you again, groaning as he sinks into your clinging heat. His blue eyes burn into yours, much like Jim's had, and he whispers the filthiest, most wonderful things in your ear, like how you feel around him, how hot you are, how wet you are for him. He's winding you up again and you can feel yourself beginning to fall once more. Your second orgasm hits like a freight train, and you wail Seb's name now. He shouts and groans and pulls out before spilling himself all over the bedspread.

All three of you are a sweaty, panting mess, tangled up in each other, breathing each other's air and smelling of each other's skin. "Well well, little rabbit... we're most certainly going to have to do that more often," Jim says as you cuddle between them, the sniper behind you and the criminal in front of you, both of them draped possessively around you, pressing afterglow kisses into your skin.


	3. An Experiment- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock texts you not to be late, then don't be late!

You fidget nervously. You got a text from Sherlock reading "221 B Baker Street, 3 p.m. Do NOT be late." It isabout two minutes to 3:00, and there isno sign of him. The door to the flat isunlocked, so you wait just inside, still in your coat.

Finally, you hear the consulting detective's familiar tread on the steps. He opens the door and sweeps in, not surprised in the slightest to see you already there. His blue-green eyes flick over you, nearly burning with the intensity of his gaze. In that low, smooth voice that makes you tremble inside every time you hear it, he tells you to take off your coat as he discards his own. You do, then, with one large, long-fingered hand at the small of your back, he guides you to his room. Once inside, he shuts the door and looks you over again. "Strip," he orders. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you are compelled to obey.

Slowly, you pull off your shirt and drop it to the side, then you wriggle your way out of your jeans. You're left standing in your bra and panties, absently wishing that you had worn a set that matched. He makes a hum of approval and crosses to you, using his fingertips to raise your chin. Instead of kissing you though, he moves his touch down the column of your throat, skimming over your collarbones as you gasp. That damnably perfect mouth quirks at one corner into a smirk. "Already so willing and I've barely touched you," he says, amused. You frown and reach up to pull him to you when his voice cuts through the air like the crack of a whip.

" _No_. No touching... until I say so." Your hands drift back by your sides and you fidget again. When his mouth touches your skin, you gasp. He chuckles, more of a rumble in his chest. "How responsive," he murmurs, and you shiver.

Your eyes drift halfway shut as he continues the slow exploration of the flesh of your neck and shoulder with his lips and tongue. You're so tempted to bury your fingers in his midnight curls, but you've been told... no, _ordered_ not to touch. He pulls away from you  and you nearly whimper. He chuckles again and searches your face, noting, no doubt, that your eyes are dilated to their fullest extent and your cheeks are flushed. He's already seen to the rapidity of your pulse, tasting the skin languorously. He leans in and claims your mouth with his, taking everything he can, plundering with his tongue and lips. You absently note that he tastes of coffee. Then you find that he's pushing you backwards. The backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, and you nearly fall, but he guides you to a seated position. His hands deftly unhook your bra and remove it from you, tossing it over to one side. His hands find your breasts, palming them, brushing over your nipples and tweaking them. This makes you moan aloud which causes a satisfied gleam to come to his eyes.

Soon, he's totally bare before you, and you drink in the sight of him hard and ready and _wanting_. You must have smirked or something, because his eyes flash. He's on you faster than you can blink, dragging your knickers down and off of you, throwing them to the side as well. Sherlock begins to kiss his way down your body, from your sternum down your abdomen, down your belly until his hot breath is fanning just above the feathery curls that crown your sex. He gives you a wicked grin before he kisses your clit and runs his tongue along you, making you almost shriek as he pleasures you with his mouth. He slides in one finger, then two, curling and twisting them against your walls. You respond to the invasion by arching your hips up into the touch, into his mouth. You're nearly at the peak when he withdraws and pulls his fingers out. Your juices shine around his nose and mouth and he wipes it away before kissing you, your scent and taste mingled with his.

When you break for air, you finally beg, "Please...  _please_... let me touch you." He seems to consider it for a moment before he nods and your hands are everywhere: tangled in his curls, running along his shoulders and down his back, brushing his torso. He nearly groans as they just barely touch above his cock. Eyes ablaze, he rolls on a condom, then takes your hands and pins your wrists to the bed, moving them so that one of his own large hands can carefully restrain both of yours. Using his other hand, he brushes the tip of his cock against you, gathering wetness to ease his entry. And then he's inside of you, slowly pressing into you, filling you to the hilt.

You keen as he bottoms out, and link your ankles around his hips, arching into him more. He moans gutturally and begins to move, long, slow thrusts that inflame the both of you. His name is on your lips, escaping your mouth in breathy little gasps, and he's grunting as he works into you, sweat beginning to plaster his curls to his forehead. A sudden thrust and a roll of his hips is what sends you over the edge, your climax surprising you as you fall off the edge of the precipice, screaming for him. He grins, a feral expression full of teeth, then bends to nip at the skin of your throat. It doesn't take long for him to finish as well, groaning as he empties into you. You both relax in the afterglow as he pulls out and disposes of the condom. "Quite satisfactory," he sighs as he lays back, flashing you one of his rare smiles. "Although, to make sure that the experiment is successful, many more trials must be completed."

Who are you to argue with science?


	4. Up in the Club- Jim and Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friend dragged you out of your flat and to this club and left you alone at the bar...bitch. So what happens when two extremely hot men try to pick you up?

You're sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand wondering how the hell your friend managed to convince you to come with her to the club. She's gone off with her boyfriend leaving you alone and eyeing the room, glancing at your watch every few minutes hoping she'll reappear and say that it's time to go. The music is almost too loud to hear yourself think, and the UV lights cast strange glows around the room. As it is, the white in your shirt is shining practically purple.

"May I buy you a drink?"

You turn, startled at the Irish brogue in your ear, almost sinfully smooth and come face to face with a pale, dark haired man. He's leaning easily against the bar and smiling lazily at you. Even in this light, you can tell his eyes are brown and spark with something more than intelligence. You shift slightly in your seat as you look him up and down. He's in a white V-neck, glowing as your blouse is in the light, tight fitting blue jeans that leave nothing up to the imagination, and trendy black sneakers.

He beckons to someone behind you and it isn't until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you realize another man is standing there. You turn your neck to look and nearly spill your drink down your front, realizing that you are staring at bona fide man candy. The man is tall, ripped, and tan with a mop of curly blonde hair and blue eyes so piercing it's as if they see straight through you. He's in a skin tight black t-shirt and fitted black jeans and black sneakers, looking every bit the part of a rebel biker. Your mouth is completely dry, and you realize you're staring. You apologize, and both men start to laugh.

"There's nothing to apologize for," the blonde murmurs, shooting you a lopsided grin that makes your toes curl. He takes the drink from your hand and sets it on the bar. "Now, instead of a drink, how about we take you dancing?"

You're speechless; both of these men are clearly interested in _you_ , and there's no way it can be possible.

"Oh, it is possible, my pet. Now, we insist on taking you to the floor and won't accept no for an answer."

You jump slightly as you realize that the other man's mouth is at your ear. You don't even know their names.

"I'm Jim. This is Sebastian, but you can call him Seb or Sebby if you like. He answers to all sorts of nicknames."

You glance back at the blonde mountain, realizing that he's currently undressing you with his eyes. It's almost as if he can see straight through your clothes. You take a deep breath, down the rest of your drink, and stand. You accept their invitation to dance.

" _Wonderful,_ " Jim purrs.

Seb takes your hand first and leads you into the throng of people dancing. The music is louder here and it's even hotter than it was at the bar. Once he finds whatever he's looking for, Seb spins you and pulls you back flush against his body. His strong hands fit easily on your hips and he begins to roll his hips against your arse in time with the music. You don't know the song, but the rhythm couldn't be more obvious if it tried. Hesitantly, you start rolling with him, resting your hands on his. You're extremely self-conscious; you've never danced like this before with anyone.

You look up to see Jim walking towards you through the crowd, although sauntering is probably a better word. He reaches you easily and brings up a finger to trace your jaw. Your eyes roll back at the caress and you lean back against Sebastian, still moving in time with the music. You think you can feel something but dismiss it. _There's no way he's hard for me_ , you think. Suddenly, you feel his hands move from your hips and slide up your sides, up your arms until you're raised your arms over your head and he's draped them back around his neck.

Jim is fully in front of you now and is bumping and grinding against your front, using your hips as leverage to tap into the rhythm you and Sebastian already have going. The song changes and you barely notice, more intent on the man behind you and the man before you, especially once Sebby lowers his lips to your neck, pressing gentle kisses to your damp skin. The moan he elicits is not by any definition, decent, but you don't care as long as he doesn't stop.

Somewhere in your mind, you realize that Jim is chuckling, and when the song ends, Seb slows down and unhooks your arms from around his neck. You feel for all the world as if you've just had sex without even stripping. Jim leans in and presses his lips to your ear.

"We'd simply _love_ for you to come back with us for bit of fun."

You try and focus on Jim's words but Seb is kissing your other ear and distracting you. It's all you can do to nod once. Instantly, they each have one of your hands and are leading you from the club to a rather posh black car parked at the curb. You follow Jim into the back seat, Seb closing the door behind you.

You sit between the two men, heart pounding in your throat in anticipation as the car pulls away from the curb, heading to wherever they are taking you. Jim reaches into the mini-bar and tosses a Scotch to Seb before scooting closer to you on the seat. You realize how badly you want his hands on you again when you feel Seb's fingers on your neck, followed by his lips. He's kissing your skin just as he had in the club, and it's so gentle that it makes you shiver. You turn your head away from him to give him more of your throat to work with and come face to face with Jim. His brown eyes are calculating and bright as they flick over your face, stopping several times on your lips. Just when you think you might explode from waiting, he closes the distance and _claims_ your mouth.

You force yourself to remember to breathe as he works your mouth open with his own, his tongue darting in just enough to brush the roof of your mouth or stroke your own tongue before retracting. He's learning you extremely quickly, every shift of weight, every breathy sigh or deep moan apparently like a beacon to him. You feel one of his canine teeth nick your lip and suddenly his mouth closes over the cut and sucks hard. You gasp his name and squirm, trying to get closer. He chuckled and pulls back.

"My turn," growls the other man. You look back at Sebastian and are temporarily stunned by the hunger in his gaze, long enough for him to swoop in and kiss you hard while Jim starts working the skin on the other side of your neck with his mouth. He's rougher than Seb was, biting and worrying the flesh with his lips and teeth. The blonde cradles your face in his hands, tilting your head as he needs. At moments, he seems to be sampling something from your lips, at others it is as if he cannot get close enough, his tongue plundering your mouth with abandon.

When he finally pulls back, you gasp to see his eyes are nearly black, ringed by that brilliant blue you saw in the club. His lips look swollen and extremely pink, but at the smile that crosses his face, you realize that you must look debauched. You jump to feel teeth tug on your earlobe followed by a rather hot tongue.

"We're here, pet. Won't you come up with us?"

Jim really should do something about that voice of his, you think as you nod, not trusting your voice just yet. He looks like a child on Christmas morning: simply delighted with his new toy. You follow them into the elevator that delivers the three of you to the penthouse, and when the doors open, your jaw drops.

The place is enormous and very ornately furnished. Elegant tapestries and paintings adorn the walls, rugs the floors. Down the hall you catch a glimpse of the mother of all kitchens, but Jim takes your hand and leads you down the other hall to the room at the end on the left. Seb opens the door and gestures for you to enter first as he flicks on the light.

The room is furnished almost entirely in black and silver, the only other color being the brilliant red of the pillows adorning the bed. You're barely aware of the click behind you before Seb has pulled you back against him and is kissing your neck once more. You sigh and relax into his embrace until you yelp, feeling the sharp sting of teeth followed by the lapping of an insincere tongue. Somewhere to your side, Jim chuckles.

"Tiger looks like he could just eat you up. Shall I let him?"

Your eyes snap open and fix on the slight, pale man with short, brown hair and rather endearing stubble. He's taken off his shoes and is standing barefoot on the plush carpet. He catches you looking and wiggles his toes. You meet his gaze and swallow hard, moaning as Seb's lips move to your pulse point.

"Woah there, Tiger, slow down. Let's not finish before we've started. She looks about ready to explode."

You feel Seb's rumbling chuckle against your back as he presses a final kiss to your neck and pulls away, keeping you trapped in his arms. Jim slowly walks around the two of you, eyeing you carefully.

"Well now... whatever are we to do with our brand new pet, Sebby?"

You can feel the blonde's grin against your ear as his grip tightens slightly. "Dunno if I wanna share tonight, Boss."

"You'll do _as I say_ , Moran, but I might be willing to let you have the first go."

Your eyes widen in anxiety and exhilaration as Jim comes around to face you again. He takes your face in his hands and brings you close so that your noses are almost touching. You feel Seb release your chest as the man before you begins to kiss you, chaste kisses on your lips at first before prying open your mouth and taking whatever he wants. Finally freed from the blonde's clutches, your hands come up to bury themselves in Jim's hair. His responding growl echoes though your body, and he manages to get a good grope of your arse, making you squeak.

He pulls back, smirking and satisfied from the kiss. Jim glances to where Seb is leaning against the doorframe. "We _could_ always take her together, my Tiger."

This makes the blonde grin, a leering, intimate expression. "Well then... suppose we should get started, shouldn't we?"

You are unable to suppress your moan of assent that makes both men burst out laughing, and Seb come swaggering over, capturing you in a warm embrace. "Eager little pet, isn't she?"

"I'm sure by the time you've finished with her, she'll be gagging for it."

You feel your face flush rapidly, especially when Sebastian releases you and strips off his black shirt. Your jaw drops as your eyes drink in the definition of his muscles and the smooth, even tan on his body. Hesitantly, you reach out, fingertips lightly brushing the skin of his abdomen. You can see his muscles moving beneath his skin as he breathes.

"Come closer, pet."

You step forward and place the palm of your hand to his skin. He's very warm and smells like... like gunpowder and soap and Scotch and just a hint of cologne, the combination heady. He looks bemused at your fascination with his torso and brings his hands up to rest on your shoulders. You stand like that for a few moments, hardly daring to believe that this Grecian sculpture is yours for the night. Seb's right hand tilts your chin up, and he meets your mouth with his, a single, chaste kiss soon changing into an almost desperate dance and slide of tongues. His hands quickly slide around and tangle in your hair, giving you permission to finally bury your own fingers in his blonde curls, pulling him tighter and closer to you.

You don't stop kissing the tall blonde until you feel a second set of fingers on your body, undoing the snaps that run up the side of your blouse. You break the embrace with a squeak, startled. A soft, absolutely sinful Irish voice purrs in your ear, "Never mind me, pet. I'm just giving our dear Tiger a hand."

You remove your left hand from Seb's hair so that Jim can slip your blouse from your shoulders, leaving you in your bra and jeans. Looking back at Seb, he stares pointedly at your feet until you get the hint and toe off your shoes, nudging them out of the way. Jim helps you off with your socks, and now you are standing barefoot on the rug, a rug that is softer than down. You sigh in contentment as Seb pulls you back in, reclaiming your mouth. Lost in the kiss, you almost don't notice when Jim begins to kiss you as well, his lips feather light on your shoulder blades. His fingers follow the trail his mouth makes until they settle on the hooks of your bra, swiftly undoing them and letting the fabric fall away. You groan into Seb's mouth as you are released from the binding garment. He chuckles in return, breaking the kiss to kneel before you.

The blonde leans forward and takes each of your nipples into his mouth in turn, suckling and nipping at the flesh until it is bright red and hard as a pebble. Jim has his fingers tucked into the waistband of your jeans as he continues to suck and lick the skin of your back. For both men to have their mouths on you at the same time... the combination is incredible, and it is not long before you are trembling with want, your pants soaked and your forehead resting on Seb's curly locks. Deciding that you are ready, Sebastian rises and lifts you into his arms only to quickly deposit you on the bed. He steps back to strip himself, and Jim comes into view, the sight making you blush crimson.

He has already stripped.

His cock is standing at attention and dripping slightly as he watches your reaction, and his resultant grinning leer only makes you blush harder. "A pet of many colors," he chuckles, reaching out and undoing the button and zip of your jeans before swiftly pulling them off; he is rather deceptively strong. You are left on the bed in your knickers as Seb returns, bare and _very_ impressive as he stands next to Jim, both men looking at you.

"How shall we do this?"

"You're very keen tonight, Tiger. I think you can be on the bottom. Just try and hold her somewhat still as I get her ready."

"Done."

Seb crawls onto the bed and lies down, beckoning to you. You roll onto your side and up onto your hands and knees, climbing onto the man and straddling him. He smirks slightly as his fingers brush the crotch of your knickers, the digits coming away damp before disappearing into his mouth.

"Well now, pet, won't you show us yours?" you hear the Irish voice purr from behind you. Shivering, you sit up on your knees and slide your pants off, shifting for a few seconds until they are completely gone and dropped to the side on the floor. Seb's hands run up and down your body before pulling you close and flush with his chest, capturing your mouth for yet another kiss, but you don't mind.

"I don't think our little pet has ever been properly snogged before, Tiger. Wouldn't you agree?" Jim's voice is still behind you, and it isn't until you feel a cold, wet digit brush across your back entrance that you realize what he's about to do. His free hand rests at the base of your spine, stroking your skin as you whimper. "Relax, precious pet. Jim and Sebby will take care of you."

You take a few deep breaths through your nose, and his finger slips in, the lube swiftly warming as he gently, almost tenderly works his finger in and out. Seb has his hands tangled in your hair and is working your tongue with his lips; you've never kissed anyone quite like this in your life. You don't notice when Jim adds in a second finger, gradually working in a scissoring motion with the pumping and twisting. Only once he has three fingers working you easily open does he remove them. "Sebby, condom."

The blonde growls, reluctantly breaking the kiss. The position you've been in has had him rubbing up against your front for some minutes, so your lower belly is damp from him as he rips the condom open and rolls it on. Up close, you can see just how big he is, but you don't get to admire for long as he grasps your hips, helps you up, and slides you down onto him. Sebby hisses as he buries himself in your heat, and you let out a shriek of pleasure. He's marvelously big and thick, stretching and pressing you as you never have been before. Once you are completely seated on him, he gently tugs you back down so that you are pressed to his stomach once more and he begins kissing your ear and your neck, nipping and biting and sucking more marks into your skin.

"Tiger is ever so hungry. I think he likes the way you taste, pet," Jim growls as he rolls on his own condom and slicks himself up. You don't respond until you feel him pressing against your prepared entrance. It's a tough few minutes, Seb helping you relax as Jim presses further and further in until both men are buried in you and you can feel them both, acutely aware as three heartbeats slowly coincide. Jim shifts and rocks gently before beginning to thrust, still going slow and giving Seb time to work out his rhythm.

You hold onto the blonde for dear life as his hands splay across your back and he rolls up into you, Jim gradually speeding up until your mouth is open in a wordless cry of pleasure. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, along with Seb and Jim's grunts, and your moans and cries. You can feel yourself cresting soon after and before long you are gone, screaming their names as you shatter and flutter and clench around them both, your breath sobbing in your throat as they continue to work your oversensitive body. Jim comes second, his orgasm quickly pulled from him as your passage tightens considerably around him. As he slips out and moves away to dispose of the condom, Seb rolls over, trapping you beneath him and taking you even more roughly than before. A second orgasm crashes over you and you thrash against him, begging for mercy, for anything, even for more.

A few more thrusts after that, he's lost, burying his face in your neck and biting, sucking and licking the wound as he shakes and pounds erratically into you until he is spent. He collapses, barely supporting himself as he pulls out and rolls off of you. Jim helps him divest of the condom and clean up before crawling onto the bed and settling on your other side. You've never felt so well fucked as now.

Jim takes his chance to kiss you as all Seb has the strength for is to mouth the skin of your shoulder, gumming it gently. Their hands trace abstract patterns on your skin that make you shiver and sigh, very content to lie there and sleep.

"Now then, pretty little pet, are you ready for another round?"


	5. Bedtime Reading- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice meeting with John at the library.

You always run into him at the library: John, a shorter man with sandy-colored hair and a fondness for jumpers. You end up talking about books for ten to twenty minutes before he has to go, either his job at the clinic or his flat mate being, as he called it, 'a right proper arse.' You can'thelp but giggle at that which always makeshim smile.

You arefeeling a bit down... no particular reason, just a lull in your usual good mood, so you decide to pick up a shoddy romance novel to lighten your spirits. You flip through the pages when you realize this isn't just a shoddy romance; this is a full on erotica book. You flush a brilliant shade of red as you skim through the pages, the words making your breath come shorter and the space between your thighs moist. You stand and squirm a bit more, so absorbed in the text that you don't hear footsteps until he speaks.

"Reading this one, hm? Never thought of you as one for _that_ type of book," he remarks, and you start, nearly dropping the tome in your hands. You splutter indignantly until you see the laughter in his warm blue eyes, causing you to huff in an annoyed fashion but smile fondly at him all the same. He's closer to you than he's ever been, and his eyes seem a bit too bright. He flicks over the passage you're on and smirks. "Not bad, but I would have done it differently," he remarks. You raise an eyebrow.

"Oh? How, then?" you challenge, the book and the privacy of the stacks making you bold.

His smirk widens into a grin. "Thought you'd never ask," he says, then grabs you and pulls you to him. He claims your mouth, firmly but gently at the same time, and you make a muffled noise of surprise. Whatever you were expecting, it was NOT that. After you freeze in shock, you melt into the kiss, winding your hands in his short sandy hair, keeping him close. His hands rest on the curve of your hips, and you can feel his fingers twitch as if they want to move and explore. You remove your hands from his hair and trace them over his shoulders and back which causes him to moan into your mouth. The kiss is broken as you stare into each other's eyes, both of them, you're certain, are ablaze with light and sheer want. "Been wanting to do that since you discussed Shakespeare with me," he pants, and you nod in agreement.

His hands begin to fumble below your blouse and you gasp slightly at the feeling of them, warm and rough, against your skin. You bite your lip hard to prevent any noise from escaping. He catches on to this and grins wickedly. "Oh yes, can't make any noise. We _are_ in a library after all... and being loud will get us _caught_ ," he murmurs into your ear, his voice making you weak at the knees. You nod, and he grins again, unbuttoning your blouse. His hands slide upward to cup your breasts, tweaking at the nipples through their plain cups. You bite your lip hard to stifle the noises that would get you both busted. You can feel the hardness of him pressed against you as he rocks into you, and that makes your knees even weaker. Boldly, you reach down to palm the bulge in his jeans, causing him to hiss. "God, I want you," he whispers, and the sound nearly sends you crashing over the edge. He slips a hand with its clever, strong fingers down your half-bare torso and into the confines of your skirt. When he brushes your curls, you gasp again and arch into his touch. He shoots you a warning look, and you quiet down.

He backs you up into a sturdy set of shelves as he slides first one, then two fingers inside of you under your knickers. You have to bite hard on your finger to keep from moaning.

"Christ, you're soaked," he breathes into your ear and you nod, not daring to speak. He fumbles with a condom from the pocket of his jeans and opens the zip of his trousers, freeing himself. You eye his erection appreciatively, your kiss-stung lips twisting into a wicked smile. Apparently that drives him wild because he's suddenly almost attacking your mouth. He hikes up your skirt and lifts your leg to drape around his hips as he pushes your knickers aside and sinks into you. Your eyes shut as he fills you; he's thick and rubs up against all the right places. He pauses, breathing hard as if to keep control of himself and slowly, he begins to move. You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, clinging to him, both of you panting. Its over too soon, the air of secrecy and the forbiddances of doing such an act in a public place making it more erotic than you both can bear. He groans low in his throat as he spasms and jerks into you, riding out his climax. You shake and throw back your head in a silent scream as you pulse and flutter around him. Once he slides out of you, he's a gentleman once more and helps you rearrange your clothing. You share a fond smile together as you take the book.

"A page-turner... I'll have to borrow it for some...  _bedtime_ reading," you tease, and he chuckles.

"If you think this book was good... just wait until you see some of the ones I have on the shelves at my flat," he murmurs into your ear, and you flush and grin as he walks away. Guess you've just joined a new book club...


	6. Detective Inspector- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rather handsome DI Lestrade is chatting you up at a bar. What do you do?

It's been a long week, and you're looking to unwind. You drop in at your favorite local pub after work and take a seat at the bar with a pint. You sip it slowly, letting the alcohol warm you and brush all of your anxieties and cares away. You hate your job. Your flat is too small. You can't stand your bloody flat mate, the bitch. You just need to get away for a bit, to forget about all or it a just bloody _relax..._

"Rough week?"

You look up into the startlingly brown eyes of a man with salt and pepper hair although silver is probably a more appropriate term at this point. He has a kind, pointed face and a very warm smile that you can't help but return. You nod in response to his question and give a small gripe about how if other people at work did their jobs, you'd be out of one. He snorts into his beer, coughing slightly and that sets you off, giggling until you snort. You gasp and cover your face as your eyes lock, and then both of you are lost, howling and slapping the bar.

When you've finally regained control, you offer your hand and introduce yourself. He raises and eyebrow and shakes your hand. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Pleasure is all mine."

You feel your face flush slightly. A _DI_... and a rather dishy one at that. You ask if there is anything you should know about him to avoid getting arrested. He chuckles at your tease.

"I work in the homicide division, I'm divorced, and I live alone."

All very well and good. You try to make yourself sound interesting, but all you can come up with is that you enjoy a good book or a compelling video game once in a while, you don't make it to the cinema enough, and your job is so depressingly dull that you wish for death or injury on a daily basis to stop being so bored. This makes him laugh again, and he says you remind him of someone who is often bored, only this particular man tends to shoot up the walls of his flat with a gun. You raise an eyebrow and call him on it. He swears it's the truth and gives you a name: Sherlock Holmes.

Ah. You have heard of the consulting detective, and now you realize that you've seen Lestrade's face before. When you ask, he confirms that he has been on the telly to give statements recently about some brutal serial murders but that you shouldn't worry. Everything is fine now. You give him a long look out of the corner of your eye. "Oh yes, everything is _definitely_ fine," you murmur into your glass. He hears you.

"Didn't quite catch that."

You smirk. "Should I repeat it for you then, old man?"

"Oi! That could be considered harassing an officer."

"Well then, whatever will you do about it?"

You stare into his eyes for several seconds before you both burst out laughing. He buys you another drink, and you both toast to the safety of London.

oOoOo

Two pints later and you are feeling deliciously buzzed. Your bitch of a flat mate never fails to tease you for being a lightweight, but you can't help that you don't drink on a regular basis. You rise from the bar and wobble slightly on your feet, and suddenly an arm is under yours, and Greg (you call him Greg now, Detective Inspector if you're feeling cheeky) is asking if you're okay. You nod and giggle, trying to explain your low tolerance for alcohol. His gaze softens and he offers to let you spend the night at his place.

"Why, Detective Inspector, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to pick me up."

"Why? Is it working?"

"Yes."

Chuckling, he drops a twenty on the bar and leads you from the pub. You lean against him and he wraps a warm arm around you, keeping you steady on the short walk back to his flat. Once inside, he flips on a light and offers you tea. You accept but ask for a glass of water as well. He makes that first, letting you sip some sobriety back into your head as you look around. It's the space of someone who spends most of his time at work; there is not a great deal of furniture, and the telly is fairly small and in a corner.

Still sipping your drink, you lean against the kitchen counter as he puts the kettle on. Your blouse has ridden up a few inches, and it takes you the better part of thirty seconds to realize that he's been staring at your revealed skin for a few minutes now.

"My face is up here."

He starts and a faint blush rushes to his cheeks, but before he can apologize, you're in his space, the first two fingers of your left hand walking across his shoulder. "It's not the first time that's happened, but you're certainly the most handsome man to eye me in a long while."

The kiss comes out of nowhere. One minute you're teasing him and the next, his lips are on yours, and _Jesus Christ_ , his mouth is soft. You can taste his drink on his tongue, and you set your water down to wrap your arms around his neck. He has you against the doorframe to his kitchen in seconds and is _really_ kissing you now. His tongue...you didn't know a tongue could work quite the way his does. It's clever and fast and teases all of the most sensitive areas of your mouth with practiced ease. When he breaks the kiss to lick and suck a line down to your throat, you gasp, "Oh God... Detective Inspector...  _sir!_ "

He stops and slowly pulls back, and your eyes widen to see his are completely black. Feeling boldened by this, you say, "I've been terribly wicked... probably should be brought in for questioning."

Well, that was certainly the right thing to say, because he's all over you again and dragging you to his room, but once he gets you there, he shuts and locks the door before turning back to you, a rather devious expression on his face. You back up until your knees hit the bed and you fall back, arms flailing. He catches your wrists and drags you back onto the mattress before you hear a sharp *click.*

Your eyes widen at his triumphant grin when you realize he's just cuffed you to his headboard.

"So, you've been a bad girl? Incorrigible? Wicked? Criminal, even?" He smirks, walking around the bed. "Well then, perhaps a bit of punishment is in order, wouldn't you say?"

You nod; it feels as though your brain has just shorted out.

"If I address you, you will answer me. You will address me as 'Detective Inspector' or as 'sir.' Am I understood?"

"Yes... sir."

He awards you the hint of a smile. "She learns fast." He unbuttons his shirt and takes off his tie, toying with the fabric before coming back up to your head and blindfolding you tightly. You feel heat flare between your legs and are hit with such a wave of want, that you strain against the cuffs.

"Like that, do you?"

"Yes, sir."

"It really is a shame I've had to bind your eyes. I would have relished your expressions to watch me strip. I would bet you're imagining it right now, aren't you?"

"Y-yes... Detective Inspector, I am." You press your legs together, trying to gain friction through your slacks and getting nowhere.

You feel his hands on your ankles and you stop moving, your body tensing. His lips brush your ear as he whispers, " _I_ am the only one allowed to touch tonight, understand?"

"Yessir!"

You hear his resounding chuckle as he removes your shoes and trousers. You can feel the heat radiating from him as he settles between your legs; if possible, just the thought of him naked before you makes you even wetter. You hear a tearing sound, and he groans softly: there's the condom on. "Now then, it would seem you're still in your knickers," he growls, leaning close and nuzzling the fabric of your pants.

You keen and arch into his touch, arms trembling. "Yes, sir, I am. Please, Detective Inspector, take them off."

You can hear the raised eyebrow in his voice. "Oh? Are you going to beg for it?"

You nod. "Yes... please, please, _please,_ Detective Inspector. I... I want you in me. I deserve it. I've been so terribly bad, so very, very wicked. Punish me, sir. _Please_."

The air of the room hits your sex before you even realize that your knickers are gone. You can feel his tongue against you and you shriek his name as he sucks and licks at your clit and teases your entrance with his fingers. After a few agonizing moments of this, he sits up and slides into you with a single thrust. You cry at the invasion, spreading your legs farther apart to accommodate him. His hands are holding your ankles up and away, and he's driving into you for a few moments before slowing, circling his hips before pulling out and thrusting in with a sharp snap of his hips, circle-pull out-thrust-circle-pull out-thrust.

"Please... pleaseoh _please_ , sir. Let me come... let me come and then take me until you're finished... Detective Inspector!"

He bites your neck and complies, rubbing you just the right way until you're gone, screaming and gasping his name until you're hoarse, and then he's driving into you, pounding wetly in and out, groaning and grunting until he comes growling your name against your neck, still sucking a vivid bruise to the skin there.

You go boneless as he withdraws and cleans you both up before unlocking the cuffs and removing the blindfold. You blink and squint in the dim light of the room as he lays down next to you. You curl up against his chest and press a single kiss to the skin above his heart, a thank you.


	7. Teasing- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather gorgeous piece of man candy brought you home with him, and he seems more than intent on just teasing you until you go mad.

Your wrists are starting to tingle, but that's no surprise seeing as you've been tied to the bedposts for a rather long time now. The man who introduced himself as Sebastian at the pub has been quite familiar since bringing you back to his flat, but since that first kiss, who can blame you for going along with it?

The blonde is currently sitting to your side and kissing your chest... well, more accurately, he's sucking on your nipple to the point where you fear you may explode with pleasure. In the past thirty minutes, his mouth has been everywhere on your upper body (you're bare to the waist), including a period of time where he spent a decent thirty seconds on each of your fingers... all ten of them.

You're moaning his name with abandon, straining against the ropes binding you to try and touch his beautiful blonde curls, curls that are pulled back in a ponytail. When you asked, he said he'd been away on business for quite some time and hadn't had a chance to see a barber yet; you don't think he needs one. His tongue drags over the sensitive tip of your nipple and you cry out, squirming. He looks up at you, the smirk on his face sending flares of heat between your thighs. "I do believe you're ready for me now," he purrs, his accent a bit thicker with lust and his eyes almost coal black with just a faint hint of blue around the edges.

Sebastian stands and trails his fingers along the button and zip of your jeans for a few seconds, bringing a blush to your cheeks before undoing them and tugging the fabric down your body. He focuses in on your knickers next, and you can feel how damp they are, how much you want him inside you. He takes off his fitted black shirt and slowly strips out of his tight black jeans, leaving him in only his pants. If the bulge is anything to go by, he's rather thicker and longer than you had guessed. Your eyes widen with an " _Oh_..." escaping your lips.

"Like what you see?"

"Oh dear god, _yes_."

A slow smile creeps across his features, making him look positively ravenous. Making sure you're still looking, he tugs the fabric from his fame and springs free. You swallow hard as your mouth rapidly fills with spit.

He's gorgeous.

His body is all tanned muscle, his erect member certainly thick and enticing and dripping. He's clearly as eager for this as you. Climbing onto the bed, he straddles you and takes your neck in his mouth as his fingers rub against your knickers. You whimper and writhe, aching for more contact and emit a pleased sigh as he removes your jeans. You don't care that you hear them tear, you just want him to touch you _now_.

His mouth works its way up to your lips, and it's hot and heavy, and his tongue is clearly magic. He knows exactly where to touch to make you gasp or moan or whimper, and after a few minutes of this, you are a puddle beneath him. He reaches under your pillow and pulls out a condom, tearing open the package and rolling it on before stroking your entrance with his tip.

"P-please... oh please, Sebastian. I _need you_."

You're amazed at how desperate you sound, and he raises an eyebrow in response. "Oh? You need me? And _why_ should I take you, hmmm?"

You flush crimson and glance away, making the mistake of looking down. The sight of him almost in you but not quite nearly makes you faint. "I... I want you inside me... just...  _please_..."

He's clearly enjoying watching you beg, and when he swings his leg off and stands, you try and follow but the bonds hold you tight to the bed.

"I see... well then, how much do you want me? Enough to let me have my way with you?"

Your eyes widen, and you feel yourself nod. His smirk grows.

"Then we shall begin."

You shiver as he reaches into a drawer of his side table and pulls out a rather large vibrator and a bottle of lube. He shows you the bottle, and you see that it is the kind that heats when friction is applied. Your entire body flushes and he chuckles.

"You embarrass easily, my dear.

You nod, not sure of what else to do. He takes out a knife and cuts your knickers off of your body before settling between your knees again. "Much better."

You open your mouth to protest that you needed those  when he silences you with his tongue. Your eyes roll back in your head as he continues to kiss you hard, drawing your breath out in sharp gasps through your nose, and you don't realize what he's doing until it's too late. His fingers brush against your clit and you squeak, eyes snapping open. You can clearly feel the liquid on his fingers against your own damp, especially as his digits begin to heat, making you tingle. Your jaw goes slack after a moment of this, and then he holds up the vibrator. It's large with a gel casing and a button on the bottom of the grip.

"It's click operated. Do you like it?"

You nod emphatically, just wanting more touching. He clicks it on to the lowest setting and drags it down your chest first, pausing over each nipple until they are hard again before stroking it down your belly and against your button. Your resulting moan echoes in the room.

"Bet you're a screamer."

You glare at him, but he clicks up the setting, and your face relaxes against your will. He's manipulating the toy so that it rubs slow circles against you, only touching you on the outside. Once he can see you're used to the current speed, up it goes again, and your toes curl. You're far too close and don't want to come yet, not like this.

"P- _please_ , Sebastian... I want you in me... don't make me come like this... not yet...  _please_..."

"Why, dear, I thought you were enjoying our little game."

"W-want _more_..."

"Are you sure?"

" _YES!_ "

"You should have specified," he purrs, clicking the toy up to the top setting. You shatter with a scream, tensing and yanking against your bonds as the relentless movement of the toy continues to pleasure you, drawing it out far longer than you've ever sustained before. By the time he pulls it away and turns it off, you are sobbing with ecstasy and release. He kisses the tears leaking from your eyes away before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Well done," he whispers.

You whimper softly, twitching when you feel him brush against you.

"You want this? It's rather large... dunno if you can take it..."

Your eyes blaze and you capture his gaze, a wild desperation in your look. "Give. It. To. Me. With. Your. Cock. _Please_." That specific enough for him?

If he's surprised by your forwardness, he doesn't let on. Instead, he obeys you, sinking easily into your tight heat without so much as a 'Here we go.' Your head slams back against the pillows as your mouth falls open in a soundless scream of pleasure. His lips are at your neck, licking and sucking until you can almost feel the blood vessels popping under the strain; you'll have quite the love bite there in the morning.

The larger, blonde man is rocking into you now, taking his time and rolling his hips almost torturously slow. You try and snap yours up to meet his thrusts, but he stills completely, pulling away from your neck to stare you down. "My bed. My rules."

There goes the rest of the feeling in your fingers. He lowers his lips to your ear. "You're already come for me once, I wonder how many you have in you tonight. Shall we find out?"

You nearly climax from his words alone. You certainly have one more in you, possibly two if you're lucky, although with this man, you might have as many as he wants. Sebastian starts back up, moving a tad faster and lowering a finger to your clit as he works. You dig the back of your head into the pillows, your brow creasing as he pulls you closer and closer... and then he stops. Completely.

Your eyes open in a glare of pure venom at his cocky, confident face. This man is completely infuriating, and he's towering over you looking for all the world like he doesn't have his cock buried in you. "If you don't start moving, I'll-"

"You'll what? Hmmm? You're _mine_ tonight. I chose you because I could tell you'd be a challenge, a conquest if you will. And you're just _so_ tight and hot and soaking wet... it's been awhile since you've last had some, hasn't it?"

You have to nod. It's true.

"And while we might have all night, I did think that your first in some time should be rather... ah...  _memorable_ , if you get my drift."

You plead with your eyes, pouring your desperation for him to take you into them, how much you want it rough as long as he's the one giving it to you, how you are aching for him to stretch you and drive you into the mattress. He gets the gist well enough and chuckles, a low rumble like that of a jungle cat that you can feel reverberate through your whole body.

"Well then, I suppose I shouldn't disappoint."

Before you can ask, he snarls and attacks your mouth and starts to _move_. No one's ever taken you this hard before. The bed is creaking and slamming against the wall, and each thrust is aided by a sharp snap of his hips. It's not long before you're cresting again, shrieking his name to heaven as he goes even faster. Once you get some control of your mind back, you can feel his lips working over your chest and collarbone, his hands snaking under your back as he grinds and rolls and snaps and circles. You clamp down on him as best you can, trying to get some of your own back, and a single groan breaks through his grunts of exertion and pleasure.

Pleased with yourself, you do it again and again until you can see how close he is written across his face. His fingers are on you again and with a few hitched breaths, your entire world goes a violent white as you completely break, screaming yourself hoarse with cries of "Oh God Yes!" and "Sebastian!"

He finally comes a few thrusts later, growling your name through clenched teeth as he buries himself inside you as far as he will go. Both of you are dripping with sweat, the scent of sex strong in the room as he withdraws and disposes of the condom before releasing you, letting you sink back against the sheets. He lays down next to you and takes your wrists, massaging the blood back into them before kissing your fingertips.

"That... was... amazing..." you finally whisper, staring at the blonde. You reach out and run your fingers through his curls for the first time, trailing your hand all the way down through his ponytail. His eyes close and a deep, rumbling purr emits from his chest. You snuggle closer and curl up against him, still running your fingers through his hair. Eventually he kisses you, and the rest of the world falls away, leaving you snogging an extremely ripped blonde in his bed, your clothes shredded on the floor, and you can't be arse to care.


	8. Tour of the Flat- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several months of meeting for coffee, this man named Jim takes you back to his flat for the tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only request for this one was for Jim to use his sinfully alluring voice

You're sitting at a table at your favorite coffee shop, your drink cooling, a book open on the table in front of you when you hear a voice that strikes you, speaking amongst the other murmur of the general crowd: a smooth Irish brogue as rich as chocolate. Your eyes flick up to see who it is that's speaking with such a voice, and you lock gazes with a slight, dark-haired man in an impeccable suit. He shoots you a half-grin and a wink.

You flush and go back to your book, your eyes flicking up again after a minute or so to see if he's still talking. He isn't and instead is looking right at you. You go back to your book again, mind racing. Should you go up to him? Should you say something? Should you play cool and aloof and pretend not to notice him?

He makes that decision for you, coming to sit down at the seat across from yours. "Hello there," he says, and you can feel your face heat. _God_ , his voice is something else. You stammer a greeting as he takes a sip from his own drink.

"Jim Moriarty... hi," he says, grinning toothily. You introduce yourself and hold out your hand to shake. He takes it and, instead of the customary greeting, kisses your knuckles. If you thought you were red before, you're sure that you could ignite paper now. He asks you about the book you're reading which leads to an animated discussion between the two of you about the tome itself, the author, and then literature in general. You lose track of time, forgetting exactly how long you've been there. When it's about three in the afternoon, he excuses himself but leaves you his number. You meet regularly for coffee after that, each time with a new book, if not in hand, then certainly to recommend.

oOoOo

Finally, after one day almost six months into your 'coffee dates' with Jim, he invites you back to his flat. You swallow hard and accept. You know that it can't be a seduction... can it?

You follow him to the very posh black car, smiling as he opens the door for you like a true gentleman. As you settle in to the lush interior, you watch the gray streets of London pass by the windows until you get to the building where his flat is. Once inside the building, you marvel at the sleek lines as you follow him to the elevator. He hits the button for the fourteenth floor, a studio flat with huge windows and beautiful, open spaces.

"Like what you see, don't you?" he asks, chuckling. You nod, still looking around, then start when you feel hands on your shoulders. _Jim's_. You shiver, goose bumps breaking out over your skin. His touch is very warm. "Shall I take you for a tour?" he murmurs into your ear, and you somehow find your voice through the lump in your throat and answer with a 'yes'. He leads you through the rooms: the study, the large kitchen, the living room, dining room, and...

"The bedroom," he drawls. Everything in it is a rich burgundy color, and you can feel your heartbeat speed. This is where he sleeps, where he gets dressed (if the bureau in the corner is any indication). Then your thoughts take a turn for the filthy. Where he brings women...where he _fucks_... where he has a wank every now and again. Your face burns crimson with the thought, and you can't see it, but he's smirking.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, and you start. You shake your head. _Bad_ idea. He grins, wickedly. "I think I can guess where they went," he says, then pulls you down for a kiss that makes your toes curl. He winds his fingers through your hair and pulls gently, which makes you moan into his mouth. He growls to hear it, and breaks the kiss. His eyes are alight with something you can't name.

"Strip... need to see you bare," he commands, and you nearly collapse into a puddle. You begin to work your clothes off, one layer at a time, before he snarls. "Too _slow_ " he says and helps you, sending buttons scattering to the far corners of the room as he tears at your blouse. Your jeans he lets you do, wriggling out of the heavy fabric and kicking them aside after you toe off your shoes. "Bra and knickers too," he adds, and you shiver again before complying. His eyes are fairly glowing now as he drinks in the sight of you, naked and wanting before him. You wrinkle your nose.

"Only fair for you to strip too," you say, which makes him laugh.

"Eager, aren't we?" he gently teases, and begins to strip himself. His skin is pale, but his muscles are taut, and you purr appreciatively at the sight of his cock which is already at attention. Once you both are naked, you fairly attack each other. His mouth worships your skin, from the crook of your neck down your sternum, lapping and biting and sucking at your nipples which almost makes you come. You, in turn, stroke and tweak and rub with your hands, purposefully avoiding his arousal. He groans. " _Tease_ ," he whines, and you chuckle.

Then he pushes you towards the bed, none too gently. You clamber on to it, and he quickly sheathes himself into a condom. He grins as he holds your knees open, fingers tracing around your sex and just inside your folds. You moan and buck upwards into his touch, which makes him laugh. "Please... I _need_..." you beg, and he complies, sinking all the way into you with one smooth thrust which makes you shriek. He allows you to get used to the feeling of him inside you before he sets a torturously slow rhythm, circling his hips and only moving in minute pulses. You whine; you need _more_.

Jim seems to read your movements and noises, anticipating what you want. He picks up the pace until he's almost feverishly pounding into you, his name driven from your lips as you claw at his back. One more good thrust and you're done, screaming his name and making the walls echo. He groans gutturally in his throat and follows you over the edge, pulsing into you, his thrusts now erratic as he empties himself into the condom. Once both your heartbeats slow to normal, he grins and nuzzles into your now sweat-damp skin. "Should have given you a tour earlier," he murmurs, and you laugh.


	9. Baker Street Boys, Part 1- John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have taken you in while Sherlock hunts down the man who robbed you.

You're sitting on the sofa as John brings you a cuppa. He's been incredibly kind and understanding through this entire ordeal, helping make your temporary stay at Baker Street as painless as possible; you almost kissed him earlier that morning when he came in to wake you up and bring you breakfast. His flat mate has been out 'on a case' for two days but should be back soon. You can tell John is sad to be left behind but more than happy to help you out. As soon as the police catch the man who stole your things and nearly raped you, things will get back to normal. You just want your clothes and your soap and shampoo as silly as it sounds... and maybe a kiss or more from the handsome blonde caring for you.

Sherlock comes traipsing up the stairs, eyes bright to announce the successful completion of the case. He informs you that as soon as Lestrade and his men check your things out, they'll bring everything to Baker Street, and you can get on with your trip around England. You can't thank him enough, launching from the sofa and hugging him unexpectedly. You hear John chuckle behind you and Sherlock stiffen at your touch, clearly unsure of what to do.

You feel another set of arms and realize that John is behind you, joining in the impromptu group hug. Sherlock relaxes slightly and hesitantly wraps his arms around you as well. They're both warm and comfortable, and then you feel John's lips lightly brush your neck. You shiver slightly and suddenly Sherlock has tilted your head up, studying your face intently and muttering under his breath, concluding with, at an audible volume, "John, she is aroused by what you're doing. Could be our close proximity, but the change definitely happened when you kissed her neck."

"Yes, and?"

"I'm curious."

"About?"

"Where this will go."

You know where you want it to go and blush at the direction your thoughts take you. John seems to catch on and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. "No need to be nervous. Nothing has to happen if you don't want it to."

Now that couldn't be further from the mark, but you don't want Sherlock to be left out.

"This is not really my area," the detective says in response to your unsaid objection, "but I have no problem observing."

Your eyes widen and go dark; he is very clearly intrigued now and steps closer to examine your pupils, so close you could touch him, and you do, closing the distance between your lips. He starts but you cup his face, stroking his cheekbones until he relaxes in your grip. John has let go of you completely, and you break the kiss to try and explain but Sherlock growls and yanks you back in, nearly bruising your lips in the process.

"Oi, you wanker! I had my eye on her first!"

You start and you both break the kiss, turning to see a rather irritated ex-Army doctor tapping his foot. You shake your head and cross to him, not stopping even when Sherlock takes your hand. "You have to know I want both of you," you sigh, stroking his jaw with your free hand.

"An experiment!" Sherlock claps his hands and dashes upstairs. You glance at John who shrugs and leans in, about to kiss you when Sherlock bounds back downstairs, something clutched in his fist. He darts for his bedroom. "Well, are you both coming, then?"

John looks visibly frustrated, and you shoot him a reassuring smile even as your insides clench at the innuendo in his question. You take his hand and watch as he resigns himself to whatever Sherlock has planned. You make it to the door of Sherlock's bedroom, and before you enter, you turn to John to give him a soft, brief kiss on the lips. You see his eyes go dark, and you shiver-

"John!"

He starts visibly and growls, taking charge and dragging you into the room, shutting the door behind you. The room is rather more sparse than you'd imagined for such a messy man, but the bed itself is made to army precision; it looks as though no one has slept in it since it was made (which is probably true). There is a large white towel spread out on the comforter, and Sherlock is standing there tapping his foot expectantly.

"What exactly is going on here, Sherlock?"

"You clearly want to have sex with this girl and she with you. I'm going to observe levels of arousal and such as I can in response to your different actions. I will then compare it to a similar situation with myself."

The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs in annoyance. "Sherlock, you can't use my wanting to..." he glances at you and you see a blush creep into his face as he tries to be a gentleman and fails, "... _get off with her_ as an experiment!"

"Does she object?"

They both look at you and you're startled out of watching them argue. Realizing that accepting the experiment means you'll get some with both of these men, you nod, perhaps a bit too eagerly as Sherlock chuckles and looks triumphant. "That's settled then-"

"No, it isn't. What do I get in return for participating in this little experiment, then?" John crosses his arms across his chest.

"I won't play violin at night for a week."

John says nothing.

"Two weeks?"

The doctor glances at the floor.

"Two weeks and no body parts in the fridge until Monday."

John looks hard at Sherlock for a moment before dropping his arms and relenting. "That's as good a deal as I'm gonna get, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Now, kiss the girl before she explodes, John."

He turns to look at you and a slow smirk crosses his face; it looks vaguely hungry. Your mouth goes completely dry as he crosses to you and slides one arm around your waist, cupping the back of your head with his other hand. " _Relax_ ," he whispers.

You barely have time to breathe before he finally kisses you, and your heart nearly stops. He's extremely gentle and tender at first, hesitantly exploring your lips with his before his tongue traces the seam of your lips. You open your mouth to accept him, and suddenly everything gets hotter. His grip on you tightens and he's possessing your mouth with a hunger and power you'd never imagined he had. When he breaks the kiss and trails his lips down your neck, you're clutching at him for support, eyes wide open until he gently bites your neck and your knees start to give, your breath escaping you in an embarrassingly wanton moan. Before this moment, you'd never realized you might enjoy things just a little bit rough.

"Interesting... all right, strip her, John."

Snapped from his concentration, John slowly turns to shoot daggers at his flat mate. "All right, you berk. If you're going to watch, then watch. I'm self-conscious enough without you barking orders."

"You didn't have to agree to the experiment, John."

"It's either this or I knew you'd pick the lock to my room."

"Fair point."

When John turns back to look at you, you surprise him by having already removed your t-shirt. You're slightly nervous as his eyes slowly travel down your chest, lingering for a good long moment on your breasts, but then he's backed you against the wall and is kissing you again, his hands brushing over your bare skin. You tremble and let your own hands slip under his jumper, brushing the skin of his stomach.

He breaks the kiss, and you can see his eyes have gone dark. He pulls his jumper off and drags you over to the bed, pulling you down onto the towel before straddling you. He rolls his jean-clad hips against yours, and you whimper, scrunching your eyes shut and tossing your head against the pillows. You can feel him growing harder by the second, and, risking a glance upward, you can see him watching you.

Something lands next to John on the bed, and when you crane your neck to look, you see a condom by the bottle of lube Sherlock left there. It does not appear the detective has moved from his chair in the corner, and the heat from his gaze has you melting into a puddle on the bed. John shifts and undoes your button and zip, tugging the jeans from your body; you lift your hips to help. You're left in your bra and knickers as he stands and pulls off his own jeans and pants at the same time.

You swallow hard, eyes widening.

He's gorgeous and thick, clearly aching for you and looks just as strong as the rest of his body. You don't realize you're staring until you hear Sherlock chuckle in the corner. You flush a brilliant red and sink back into the bed, wishing you could disappear. When something brushes your ankle, you look up to see John looking at you, slightly concerned. He rubs your ankle gently and you relax once more, biting your lip as he rolls the condom on.

As much as you want him inside you, you sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed, resting your hands on his hips and looking up at him. His eyes widen seconds before you lean forward to kiss his tip and run your tongue along him. John's hands find their way into your hair, encouraging you as you slowly accept him into your mouth, wrapping one hand around his base to make sure you don't choke.

He's moaning and sighing now as you lick and suck, rocking back and forth on him. You can feel him holding back and letting you work, and after a few moments, he's shaking under your touch. You pull off with a soft moan and a * _pop_ * to look up at him. There is almost no blue left in his eyes as he drags you up the bed and pins your wrists to the side of your head. Your breath catches in your throat as he lowers his lips to your ear. "I want you."

You try to swallow but can't as he gathers your wrists into one hand and tugs your knickers off with the other. After a moment of shifting, he's straddling you and both his hands are pinning you again. He's stroking your entrance and folds with his tip, the lightest of touches that has you writhing and whimpering in denial and desire. Finally unable to stand it any longer, you open your eyes and lock gazes with the doctor,

" _Please_."

He kisses you hard and fast, easing himself slowly in, stretching you and shuddering as you clench around him, drawing him further into your body. Once he's fully sheathed, he stills, letting you adjust. You break the kiss for air, gasping like a fish out of water. "M-move p-please," you gasp. "T-take me, hard."

The change in his face is astounding, going from an expression of awe and bliss to one of feral hunger. John dives in and attacks your neck as he begins to thrust, rolling and snapping his hips. You can feel his teeth and tongue on the most sensitive spot on your neck and you groan his name; that only serves to encourage him, making him pound into you as he growls and purrs at your throat.

You shake with every thrust and try to rock up and meet him, but you aren't sure if you're really moving at all. Everywhere you look or breathe, John is there, his blonde hair starting to dampen with sweat, his torso glistening as he takes you hard. You strain against his hands and thrill as he forces you back against the mattress even harder than before. You feel yourself start to crest and before you can warn him, you're lost, screaming his name at the top of your voice and coming, clenching and fluttering and pulsing around him.

He's not far behind, the intensity of your climax pulling him over the edge after. He groans your name as his thrusts become more erratic and he fills the condom, finally slowing down after God knows how many minutes of relentless pounding into you. You feel deliciously sore as he pulls out and takes care of the condom before sitting on the bed next to you, draping a blanket over you both to restore some modesty. You pull him in for a sweet kiss of thanks before turning to Sherlock.


	10. Romancing the British Government- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to notice things are changing...is someone trying to get your attention? A certain tall, ginger fellow who loves his umbrella?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For voxangelus, who asked for Mycroft and said, and I quote, "I want him to woo me, dammit."

It's late October when you begin noticing the little things. Your walk home from work is less creepy now that there aren't any drunks stumbling around and hitting on you, a speeding ticket you got is magically taken care of, your things are vanishing and being replaced with much nicer copies, and the same happens with your food. This goes on for an entire month. It comes to a head when you come home and see a new bookshelf, already holding your collections of history, fantasy, poetry...  _all_ of them and it finally hits you.

_Mycroft._

You pull out your mobile, intent on ringing and yelling at him, but you hear a knock on your door. You go to check it, and it's him, standing there in all of his government-regulation black suited glory.

You open the door, glowering slightly, but your annoyed mood is no reason to not be polite. You offer him tea which he declines. "So, Mycroft," you say, and he perks up, looking attentive. "I never _did_ thank you for getting rid of the speeding ticket, or the drunks. Or the food. Or my things. Or the bloody BOOKSHELF!" you say, your ire no longer easily contained. His face turns red at the mention of the things you noticed. "I don't need or want these things," you say.

He scowls. "I have done all of this and would do more if I could. I would have turned the world upside-down for _you_ ," he says.

You're taken aback. Did... did he just say that and _mean_ it? You splutter and rapidly compose yourself. "I... ah... thank you?" you say, and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.

He turns his head suddenly, and your lips meet his; you make a noise of surprise and withdraw, blushing a bright red. The look on his face is also one of surprise, but there is something else that underlies it, that causes your heartbeat to speed: desire. You stare at each other for many tense seconds before Mycroft clears his throat and begins to speak. "I... apologize if my actions have been forward and unwelcome," he says, "I was merely trying to..." here he stops, looking a bit uncomfortable.

You smile, picking up what he's trying to say; in his own way, he's been wooing you. "If you wanted to impress me, all you had to do was take me to dinner," you gently chide him. He looks embarrassed and stands as if to leave. With a bit of a jolt, you realize that you don't want him to. "Wait," you say, and he pauses. You walk over to him and, screwing up your courage, you pull him down to you for a proper kiss. After the first initial shock, he responds eagerly, slanting his lips over yours and claiming your mouth with a skill that makes you gasp. You both kiss for what feels like hours, but in reality is no more than a minute or two. When you finally break for air, both of you are flushed.

"Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner this evening?" he murmurs. You chuckle and nod.

"Thought you'd never ask."

He takes you to dinner many times over the next few months. You still find little things changed around your flat, though: a new book on your bedside table, a flower on your kitchen counter, your things subtly cleaned and arranged when you come home from work. Each time you note the change, you smile and send him a 'Thank you' text.

oOoOo

It's been nearly a year now; Mycroft seems to enjoy the slow courtship. However, both of you are growing impatient. Your goodnight kisses at the door to your flat are lasting longer and longer, and his hands are becoming more daring. He used to keep them on your upper arms like a gentleman, but now they've migrated to your hips, pressing you to him or the doorframe. On more than one occasion, he's pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, trying to keep his arousal in check. On this night, you've decided that you've had quite enough with the waiting.

He's taking you to dinner, and you wear the gray dress that you know he likes best; the food, as ever, is done to perfection, and he offers you his arm as he walks you back to your flat for your usual farewell kiss. However, before he can, you ask him inside for a nightcap. He agrees and you pour a small glass of port for the both of you. You each toast to each other's health and drain your respective glasses. There is a long, pregnant pause and he stands. You know he's planning on leaving, but you are adamant that he won't, not tonight. You rise as well and go over to him. "Kiss me goodnight?" you murmur, looking up at him. He readily complies, and you pour everything you have into it. The kiss lasts and lasts and lasts, and you can feel him twitch and harden against you. In your head, you cheer.

You press closer, deliberately rubbing against him. Mycroft groans in his throat and he breaks the kiss, looking down at you. His eyes are almost fever bright. He looks almost conflicted, torn between taking what he _wants_ and being proper. You arch into him to help him make up his mind. And if that doesn't convince him... "Mycroft, I want you..."

His finely-held control snaps, and he takes your mouth almost violently. "Bedroom," he growls, and you nod, your pulse racing. You guide him there, shutting and locking the door behind you. Then you're wound up in each other again.

"Too many clothes" you gasp, and he makes a noise of agreement. He turns you around and slowly undoes the zipper down the back of your dress. His fingers brush gently along the skin of your spine and it makes you shiver. The dress slides off your shoulders and lands on the floor in a whisper of silk; you step out of it and toe off your shoes. He's working his way out of his impeccable suit, and you help him with the buttons of his shirt, his usually deft fingers becoming clumsy with his need. You press kisses to the pale flesh of his chest and torso as its exposed, causing him to make strangled noises of want.

Soon, with your joint efforts, he's bare. You're panting and flushed as your eyes trail down his naked body, struggling not to stare. His cock is already at attention, the head glistening wetly in the low light of your bedroom as it juts proudly upwards, making you keenly aware that you're still in your bra and knickers. You divest yourself of them in record time, and now it's his turn to scan down your body. You're so wet that you can feel it beginning to trickle down the inside of your thighs.

You smirk and turn, walking towards the bed, and he follows, as if in a trance. You lie down, and then he's all over you, kissing and touching with a fervor that you never suspected he had. You moan as his fingers brush the apex of your sex, and he smiles wickedly. He works one, then two fingers inside of you, twisting and curling them just so in ways that make you gasp and shudder. He's a quick study, but there's no surprise there, not with what he's able to do.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. You push him away and roll him over on to his back. You pause to let him roll on a condom, then you straddle him, letting your sex brush along his length. It drives him mad, if the sudden hoarse shout and breathless curse are any indication. Slowly, you position yourself over him and sink down until he fills you to the hilt. You both pause, trying to keep some semblance of control. You start to rock above him, rolling and circling your hips in ways that make you purr and Mycroft grip you tightly. Your slow rhythm begins to dissolve when he bucks sharply upwards, making you gasp. He grins and repeats the action. You bite your lower lip, and your eyes drift shut; your thrusts become faster and faster until finally you cry out and arch your back, climaxing with his name on your lips. A few thrusts later, Mycroft falls off the edge as well with a low moan, jerking and pulsing. You nearly collapse on top of him, but he rolls you both over and pulls out, disposing of the used condom. You snuggle into him when he returns, both of you basking in the afterglow. You smile to yourself. This was _definitely_ worth the wait.


	11. Double Time- Jim and Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up with vague memories of being drugged and come face to face with Jim and Seb who seem perfectly content to share you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Startwiththeridingcrop who asked for Jim and Seb kidnapping the narrator and dub-con. The rest of it is all me.
> 
> Oh, and I should probably say: dub-con trigger warning and light bondage

You wake with a start, your brain distinctly fuzzy and your vision a bit spotty. The last thing you remember is leaving the club and then... then...

_...big man-cloth-can't breathe-falling asleep-blue eyes-_

The fog clears from your mind and the room comes into sharp focus, the only light coming from a few very expensive looking lamps. You look to where your wrists are secured to the chair you're in: a rather large black leather wingback chair. Taking several shaky deep breaths, you allow your gaze to be drawn to the darkest corner of the room where you can just make out very subtle movement.

"Well _done_ , Kitten."

The words are spoken softly, but they carry easily across the space to you. The voice is fairly unassuming with a rather lovely Irish Brogue lacing it.

"W-where am I?"

You hear a frustrated sigh. " _Patience_ , my dear pet. I suppose Tiger used a bit more than was necessary. You've been out for quite some time."

A bit more than... the cloth.  "Chloroform."

You hear clapping. "Are you convinced yet, Tiger? She's clever, she's very clever, _awfully_ clever."

He's clearly speaking to someone, but you can't see anything. Shifting slightly in the chair, you try to test the bonds and get a better look at the room only to realize your ankles are bound to the front legs of the chair, spreading your legs a bit wider than is polite.

"Should we come out and say hello?"

"Please, spare me the suspense," you shoot back, braver than you feel.

A small, rather unassuming man in an impeccable dark suit with dark hair and a bit of five o' clock shadow and a veritable mountain of a man with tanned skin and curly, blonde hair dressed in all black come walking towards you out of the shadows. Almost against your will, you shiver with something other than fear. You know you should be terrified, but some part of you is purring, far too eager to see where this is headed.

The smaller man speaks first. "Jim Moriarty... hiiiiii." _So his is the Irish voice._ "This is my pet Tiger, sniper, assassin, right hand man, and the man who snatched you: Sebastian Moran."

The blonde nods curtly in your direction, and you get the briefest glimpse of blue eyes before he is looking back at the smaller man who is clearly in charge and extremely dangerous. "Aren't you going to ask me why I brought you here?"

"Well... there's no point, is there? I figure you'll tell me what you want me to know regardless of what I ask... isn't that how this works?" Your mind is coming into sharp focus, a sudden burst of adrenaline making it work faster than it ever has before. You aren't prepared for the smile he gives you. It's hungry and predatory but has a hint of something resembling insanity behind it. You know in your gut that this is not a man to be trusted or trifled with, a man who is completely unpredictable, a man who... is currently undressing you with his eyes and smirking.

You blush, glancing away and finding one of the lamps frightfully interesting.

"Now that won't do. Little Kitten is bold and brave. You've made an impression on us, my dear."

You go very still when he comes closer, practically breathing in your ear, and you try in vain to suppress how much his proximity seems to turn you on, trembling as his finger traces the side of your face and your jaw. "You know there's no such thing as secrecy," he purrs into your ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it. "I _own_ secrecy. It turns you on, doesn't it? Being defenseless and at the mercy of not one but _two_ men?"

Your mouth goes dry as you nod yes; you can hear a low, rumbling chuckle coming from Sebastian. "Easy there, Boss. You keep talking like that and you'll have her soaking wet in no time."

The smaller man turns and shoots the blonde a grin. "All part of the plan, Sebby. Do try and keep up." He turns back to you, and you notice for the first time that his eyes are brown, almost the color of chocolate. His nose is almost touching yours, and your breathing shallows. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, taste those lips that help form his sinfully smooth voice. You squirm slightly as you feel a rush of heat between your thighs, and you bite your lip.

"Oh? Does Kitten here like teeth?"

You glance up and meet his gaze head on for all of three seconds before he leans in, tilting his head almost curiously before sliding a hand into the hair at the back of your head and crushing your mouth to his. You struggle for a moment on principle, but as the kiss continues and his wicked tongue dives into your mouth, dancing and tangling with your own, you feel yourself relaxing into his embrace.

All too soon, he pulls back, smirking and walking over to where the sniper is standing. "Like what you see, Sebby?"

His lip curls slightly and he nods, eyeing you so intently that you can easily guess where his thoughts are. The blush that finds your face makes his eyebrow quirk, and he glances at Jim for something... permission, perhaps? Whatever the question, he receives the go ahead and crosses to you, kneeling on the floor before you. His eyes really are a gorgeous shade of blue, and his hair is much curlier up close, you think before his mouth envelops yours and all other coherent thoughts are driven from your mind.

Jim kisses to possess and claim ownership, to show you who the boss is. Sebby kisses to _inflame_.

You moan rather wantonly into his mouth and press as close as you can, your wrists straining against the ropes until they start to bruise. You can feel your knickers and jeans growing damp, but you could bloody care less because you haven't gotten anything in almost a year, and this is turning you on something awful. Some part of your brain hears Jim speak again, but you're lost in the slide of tongues and lips and teeth with the blonde, your mind fuzzing over until all you can think about is how much you want him to take you, and you don't care how he does it.

Suddenly, his touch is gone, and you moan at the loss, eyes forcing themselves open to see Jim dragging the man away and whispering animatedly into his ear. Your lips are pleasantly swollen, your sex is aching, and no amount of rubbing will help... not that you can in the first place with your legs spread the way they are. The men seem to argue for a few more minutes before coming to an agreement, turning back to face you.

"Look how much she wants it, Boss. Such a wanton little thing. Bet she's drenched already."

Jim shoots the blonde a glare.

"What? Just stating the truth. Don't get your pants in a bunch."

You can't help it; you snort a laugh at the mental image of Jim with a wedgie, and once you start, you can't stop. You sag against the ropes binding you, tears streaming from your eyes until you feel an iron grip on your upper arm. You manage to look up and see Jim standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Something funny, _pet_?"

You swallow hard, his eyes and tone of voice bringing you back down to reality. "Yes, sir."

Well, too late to back down now.

He shoves you back into the chair, and you bite back whimpers as your wrists strain in the ropes. He slides into the chair, straddling you easily, his head rolling on his shoulders, almost like some kind of reptile. Then he rolls his hips against you once and you squeak, heat flaring up once more. You might want Sebby more, but Jim will certainly be able to catch and hold your attention.

He seems to sense your thoughts and growls, his lips curling into a snarl that bares his teeth, and you feel a stab of fear run through you. He grinds against you a few more times, eliciting moans and whimpers from you before dismounting, gesturing that your lap is free for the blonde to do the same.

You realize what Jim is doing. He's setting the activities and executing them, and then Sebastian is allowed to do exactly what he just did. And if he continues with that pattern... then everything that happens to you tonight will happen twice.

 _Hoooooo_ _boy._

Seb is considerably larger and heavier than Jim's slight frame, and when he grinds down you nearly cry out. He's clearly hard already and straining against his dark jeans. You wish you could touch, could run your hands through his hair, could kiss him... but no. Jim says what his man is allowed to do, and somehow, if you try to change things up, you have the distinct feeling that it will end badly for you. When the sniper rises from your lap, you can feel how soaked you knickers are, and you're pretty sure it's made your jeans damp as well.

Jim strolls back over, clearly pleased with himself. "Now then, Kitten, have you figured out my little game?"

You nod, not even trying to conceal the desire in your eyes.

"Oooo, aren't you just a _brazen_ little creature. Yes, I think we shall certainly enjoy this. Sebby, she's wearing far too many clothes. Make them disappear, would you?

Your sight is taken up by the sniper again who now has a large knife in his hand and begins fastidiously cutting your clothes away from your body, ripping and pulling where he can't risk cutting you with the blade. You look sadly at the pile of tattered cloth on the floor, but the chances of you leaving here aren't pretty good in the first place, so, you'll cross that bridge if you come to it. As it is, the leather is much colder without your clothes, and the seat beneath you is growing damp.

"That'd better not stain..."

"Oh Boss, quit your whinging. She's practically gagging for it. Who cares about the bloody chair?"

" _I_ care, you mountain of meat.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Fine then, you care. Put a towel down if you're so bloody worried."

"Go get one from the cupboard. Now."

The blonde returns a few moments later with a large white towel that he works underneath your bum, stealing a slight pinch before returning to Jim's side. The pale man has been slowly stripping before you with Seb on his errand, and he's bare and erect before you, his tip glistening and wet and making your mouth water. He has Seb bring him a cushion and puts it on the floor in front of the chair before kneeling. You can see he's eye level with your sex and, the resulting blush covers your entire body.

His hands resting on your knees and pressing them farther apart, he leans in and lets his tongue flick out to taste you, running it along the outside of your folds, up to your clit, and back down again. He's teasing you terribly, but you only grace him with little whimpers and moans of pleasure. When he slips two fingers into you while working your button with his tongue, you rock down slightly onto him, aching so badly for more friction that you're in pain, and when he speeds up and brings you to a shattering climax, you sag back against the leather seat. He _does_ allow you a few kisses once you've come, and the mixed taste of the two of you is rather heady.

"Quite a show you gave there, trying to be all demure. Well, Tiger is much rougher than I am. Can you keep up the show for him as well, my pet?"

Your eyes widen to see a fully bare Sebastian take his place in front of you, shooting you a wicked, smug, eager grin before diving right in, his fingers tweaking and teasing your folds while his tongue and teeth work your clit without mercy. When he finally inserts his fingers, he fits three and works you open enough to fit a fourth, pumping and twisting and curling his digits until you come a second time in a blaze of white light and pure heat. As you sink back into the chair, more relaxed than you've been in a good long while, Sebby claims your mouth roughly, devouring your lips and tongue with his own for a few intense moments, serving to make your already sensitive places burn and ache even more. Even though you're already come twice (not something you've ever done in one sitting. _Ever_.), you want one or both of them in you so badly you can't see straight.

Seb returns to his place at Jim's side, and by the time you open your eyes again, both men are staring at you hungrily.

"My my, you _are_ rather desperate for this, aren't you?"

"Chose well, Boss."

" _So_ , darling little pet, shall we reward your good behavior?"

"Y-yes... yes sir."

The look of surprise and delight on his face is priceless. "Did you hear that, Sebastian?"

"Yes, Boss. I do have ears, you know."

"Watch your mouth, Tiger. I'm not above tying you down and watching me get off with her and not letting you."

 _That_ shuts up the sniper rather effectively. Jim gestures to the corner, and Seb retrieves a chair that he sits in, absently stroking himself a few times as the smaller (and of the two of them, younger) man saunters over to your chair. He produces a condom from a hidden chamber in the lamp a few feet away and rolls it on before completing the journey to you. He gestures to his cock. "Is this what you want, Kitten?"

"Yes, sir." You try not to sound too eager.

"Are you _quite sure?_

"Yes, _sir_."

He chuckles and straddles you in the chair once more. "Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex," he purrs in your ear before slotting his mouth over yours and his cock into your sex at the same time. swallowing your cry of pleasure into his body.

As he begins to move, his growls make your body tremble, and his hands are everywhere. One moment they're pulling your hair so he can attack your neck, giving what you know will be an extremely impressive love bite, the next resting on your hips to allow him to pound into you without mercy, and even sliding up and down your arms, tracing over the ropes that hold you fast. In a matter of minutes, he has you teetering on the edge, perfectly balanced on the edge of climax, but not letting you release. Gathering you in his arms, he pulls you so that you are flush with him and whispers into your ear, "You. Are. _Mine_."

You swear your scream can be heard across London as you orgasm with Jim's name on your lips, shuddering and bucking against him. You throw your head back as he keeps you pressed against his body, driving into you with a few more well timed thrusts before coming himself, a soft groan and a sigh of pleasure and approval. He disentangles himself from you and stands, disposing of the condom in a bin behind your chair. When he comes back, you are rewarded with a soft, gentle, chaste kiss. " _Well done_ , Kitten," he purrs.

You nod in agreement, chest heaving as you try to regain your breath. You know Sebastian still has his turn, and you aren't sure if you have another one in you tonight.

"She looks a big wrung out, Boss."

"Perhaps, but she'll perk up for you. Just snog her senseless, and then take her as you will."

You shake your head to clear it of the extremely peasant afterglow as Seb's ripped and tanned body comes into better view. Shifting slightly, you try to sit up a little straighter as you watch him roll his condom on. Having a direct comparison, you realize that he is much thicker than Jim, and his veins stand out more...he's going to be extremely snug in you, even with all of the activities you've done already.

Seb straddles you in the chair and takes your face in his hands, catching your gaze with a wink before kissing you, starting slow and gentle before turning up the heat. By the time he is sucking on your tongue, you're rocking up against him, ready. His laughter is almost a low purr as he changes his position and enters you slowly, making sure he doesn't hurt you as he stretches you more than you ever have been. You can feel every vein, and even his heartbeat is tangible through your connection. Your eyes are open wide in pleasure and awe as he settles in you, his lips trailing down to your neck. He suckles the skin gently for a few seconds before biting down none too gently. You moan his name, and he starts up, rolling his hips inhumanly slow at first as he draws blood to the surface of your skin.

Before you realize what' happening, a stream of words is pouring from your mouth; you're babbling but you can't seem to stop. "-Oh please speed up I can't take this I want you to fuck me I need you to fuck me Tiger Tiger burning bright please please please make me yours please own me-"

He growls with approval and speeds up, circling and snapping his hips as he drives into you. His arms wrap around your body under your arms, and he works your body against his. Bringing his hands back, he lifts one breast at a time to his mouth, sucking on your nipple while meeting your gaze until the flesh is rock hard and switching. Back and forth he goes, sucking and nipping and licking until you gasp out a warning that you're almost there. With a hissed " _Yes_ ," he crushes you to him, sliding his hands down to your arse and squeezing, working your hips in a perfect roll against his until, for a fourth and final time, you come.

oOoOo

When your eyes open again, Seb is peppering your face with kisses as Jim strokes the skin of your belly. You're no longer tied up and are... in bed with both men.

"She wakes," Jim purrs, pressing a kiss to one of your bruised wrists. "I thought we were going to have to perform mouth-to-mouth for a moment, but our little Kitten is made of sterner stuff, isn't she?"

You nod wordlessly, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids as one of Sebby's kisses traces your lips. "May I sleep now?" you croak, snuggling into the warmth of the sniper.

Jim pulls the covers up and curls around your back. "Until we have need of you again."


	12. Baker Street Boys, Part 2- John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sherlock's turn for the experiment

You lie back in the afterglow, Sherlock observing you both with those bright blue eyes. You wonder if he's planning to take you next, but he merely stands, nods, and walks out. You turn to John, confused. "He does that," he says, and you shrug.

Your belongings are quickly returned to you after Lestrade and his men check them for evidence against the man who stole them from you. You sigh and offer to stay at a hotel now that your things have been returned. However, you are more than pleased when both John and Sherlock refuse to hear anything of that sort; you're more comfortable with them both anyway after the first part of the 'experiment' as Sherlock insists up on calling it. Both of them make it a point to show you some sort of affection during the day at least once. John hugs you and kisses you fiercely before he leaves for work, Sherlock drapes his arm possessively around your waist when you putter around in the kitchen (making sure to avoid his specimens on the east side of the counter).

As day four dawns, you can't help but wonder when exactly Sherlock's half of his 'experiment' will be taking place. It's John's day off, and, seeing as you're new to the city, he decides to take you all sight-seeing much to your delight and Sherlock's annoyance. The shorter man rolls his eyes at his friend's comments of "Dull" and "Trite" and, more increasingly, "BORED." However, you don't let that bother you; the doctor takes you to see Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Abbey Road, the Tower of London... all the places you've always wanted to go. After the first hour, Sherlock ceases complaining, and when you point it out to John, he looks equal parts pleased and concerned; a quiet Sherlock is usually a plotting Sherlock.

When you finally head back to 221B Baker street, the tall consulting detective has bounded on ahead. John furrows his brow as he follows close behind, with you bringing up the rear. As you enter the flat, closing the door behind you, you see Sherlock whispering in John's ear. "Are you sure?" he asks Sherlock aloud, looking slightly incredulous. This earns the doctor such a withering stare that he backs up with his hands raised in supplication.

"Is everything all right?" you ask. The look that Sherlock gives you in response is nothing short of predatory, his bright blue eyes kindled with some inner fire that makes your breath come in short gasps and you take an unconscious step backwards at the same time.

He continues to advance and you continue to back up until you hit the door; he's so close to you that you can feel the heat coming off of him. He bends and murmurs into your ear words that make your knees buckle with desire. "John had his turn already. Today... you are _mine_." Your tongue is so tied that all you can do is nod in response. Sherlock hums in approval as he drops his lips to the crook of your neck and shoulder, sampling the skin there with his lips which makes you gasp; you can feel him smiling, and a chuckle escapes him.

Sherlock slowly turns you both and guides you to his room; the bed is barely used and impeccably made. There is a framed copy of the periodic table of the elements on one wall that you hadn't seen the first time you were there, but you can hardly take in your surroundings because you are so distracted by the room's owner. Sherlock is now kissing his way slowly up your neck and along your jaw, being careful to avoid your lips. You make a noise of frustration, which makes him laugh. John does as well, and you start; in your current haze, you've quite forgotten about the doctor. You flush... you've slept with him, yes, but having him watch as Sherlock takes you? That's equal parts disturbing and arousing. The arousal soon wins over though, and you return your awareness to the tall detective's ministrations to your skin. You gasp as his hands, with their long, clever fingers, find their way under your shirt.

Sherlock strokes your skin, and you bite your lip hard. You barely notice it when he starts to undo the buttons of your blouse. Soon, however, the slightly cooler air of the room brushes along your torso, and you start; he eases the shirt from your shoulders, then reaches behind you to unhook your bra. He starts at the shoulder, pressing kisses behind the strap as he works it down your arm, all the way to your fingertips, doing the same for the other side as well. You let out a breathy whine, especially when you notice John watching his best friend intently.

Finally, you can take no more of it. You drag Sherlock's mouth to yours and kiss him hard. He rumbles a growl in his chest and breaks the kiss in favor of nipping at your collarbones. You frantically begin to undo his shirt, your want driving you wild. He helps you divest him of his clothes until he's standing in his boxers, his arousal tenting them to an impressive degree. You can feel a flare of heat ignite between your legs, and you shift a bit. He catches this, of course, and swiftly undoes the button and zip of your jeans, fairly peeling them off of you. He none-too-gently pushes you on to the bed and you arch your back as you're under him. He grinds into your aching center and you moan. "Please...  _please_ don't tease me," you beg.

He smirks. "And why should I not?"

"Be-because it's not _fair_!"

Sherlock chuckles darkly. "Life. Isn't. Fair," he drawls, and runs two fingers over your still-clothed sex. You keen at the touch, feeling your wetness soak through the cloth.

John groans. "Bloody _hell_ Sherlock... stop teasing her," he says. He looks about as keyed up as you are, his arousal beginning to tent his own trousers as well.

"If he won't do it... will you?" you ask him over Sherlock's shoulder. John moves to eagerly comply, but there's a noise akin to a snarl that rips itself from Sherlock's throat. He nearly tears off your knickers.

"What did I say? Today, _you are mine_. Not John's, not anyone else's. _Mine_." He lines himself up with your entrance and thrusts in, his eyelids fluttering at your heat and wetness. You cry out as he finds his way into you. "God, you're so _tight_ ," he murmurs.

He's thick and long, bigger than John is. You spread your legs more to allow him more access, and he groans as he slides into you all the way to the hilt. Your breath seizes in your throat, and you begin panting his name as Sherlock starts to thrust. He's slow at first, but then gains confidence and speed, snapping his hips and rolling them; you arch more and drag your nails down his back, causing him to cry out. John is still looking at the both of you, but now he's opened his trousers and is palming his erection.

You're nearly undone at this point. With Sherlock inside of you and seeing John get off to watching you both, you can feel yourself beginning to crest. Sherlock feels it too, and as you start to pulse and flutter around him, he stills himself and smirks.

"Move!" you order.

He raises an eyebrow. "Whyever for?" he drawls.

You nearly scream in frustration; he can be _such_ a child. "Because I'm so close that I can taste it," you elaborate. Sherlock seems to be pondering this, then starts to move once more. But he moves so _slowly_. It's better than nothing, you decide, and you roll your hips at the same pace. John's breathing has gotten louder and he's openly touching himself now. You bite your lower lip. So easy to get off... but so hard as well. You clench around Sherlock and he lets out a strangled gasp, his eyes beginning to roll back into his head.

With a strangled shout, Sherlock drives deep inside of you, his thrusts becoming frantic as he spills himself into you. You aren't far behind and you arch and _scream_ , a jumbled mix of names. You can hear John's guttural moan as he finishes as well, emptying all over his hand.

"Fucking _hell_ -" John manages to pant as all three of you start your descent from the sexual high, "-we should do that more often."

Sherlock slips out of you and presses afterglow kisses to your skin, tasting your sweat and his mingled. "I do believe you're correct, John," he says.

You grin. Anything for your Baker Street Boys.


	13. Baker Street Boys, Part 3- John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrenaline is a wonderful thing

You've now been staying with these amazing men almost a fortnight. After Sherlock's turn with the experiment, you feel even more at ease around the generally thorny detective. John hasn't been able to keep his eyes (or his hands for that matter) off you for any decent length of time; it's been rather embarrassing for Sherlock to walk in on you two snogging against a wall with the doctor's hand up your blouse. The detective usually scoffs and walks away as John helps you straighten up, both of you rather flushed, but Sherlock has not made any kind of move on you since that day. You and John haven't managed to make it past second base either as a new case has popped up.

You've never seen Sherlock in full on case mode before, and the transformation is rather stunning. He's moodier and far more silent than usual, and the only thing he'll accept is a cup of tea from you or John; he flat out refuses to eat. The two have left you in the flat on your own several times to visit various crime scenes or to speak with the Met... although Detective Inspector Lestrade dropped by yesterday to discuss the case, and _damn_ , is he fine. You wouldn't mind a round with him, especially since you haven't gotten any in almost a week after having both of your flat mates within days of each other.

Today is rough. Sherlock wakes you by shooting up the wall, and John has to come running in to calm you down (you've been kipping in Sherlock's room since he never uses it), and he practically has to snog you into relaxing. Once he gets you breathing again, he makes sure you have some breakfast while Sherlock sulks on the sofa, complaining more and more that he is stuck and can feel he is so close and is missing something painfully obvious. As you eat your eggs and toast, you watch as John sits and talks to him, being more patient than you ever think you could manage with the man, but the doctor is quiet and doesn't raise his voice, and after a few moments, the detective leaps to his feet; you can see everything turning in his head as he puts the last pieces together.

Moments later, he's fully dressed and bounding out the door. John apologizes for leaving but gives you a farewell kiss that leaves you breathless before following Sherlock out. You get a text a few moments later to say that they will be back late and with takeaway and to not get into trouble and to stay out of Sherlock's experiments.

You pull out your Kindle and settle into John's armchair with a cuppa.

oOoOo

You start awake as the sun begins to set, realizing you fell asleep several hours ago. You stand and stretch, cracking your stiff joints and loosening up as you head to the kitchen looking for a snack; grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl, you wander back to the windows to look out at the street just as a cab pulls up, releasing your favorite detective and blogger.

Sherlock could not be more excited, bounding up the stairs and bursting into the room. You walk over to meet him and, unexpectedly, he seizes you in an embrace, spinning you around the room as he goes on and on about solving the case and catching the criminal. John follows and shuts the door to the flat, setting the takeaway on the kitchen table and coming over, gently prying you away. He helps you right the world and get it to stop spinning before ordering Sherlock to "calm the bloody hell down," but you can see how keyed up they both are, high on adrenaline.

The detective seems to really see you for the first time and corners you against the wall, leaning in and breathing in your scent. "Slept for several hours this afternoon... reading in John's chair with a cuppa... oh, you naughty girl, can't keep your mind out of the gutter for two seconds... I'm sure there's no need to remedy that, though," he purrs into your ear, making you shiver. You feel his hands on your shoulders, then on your cheeks, and suddenly he's kissing you to beat the band. You can barely keep up as he explores your mouth, swiftly mapping out every single sensitive spot and subsequent reaction.

When you break for air, taking in huge gulps, you feel yourself yanked from his embrace and shoved against a different wall. John's blue eyes are burning as he captures your lips, taking more time than Sherlock was, letting it smolder rather than explode, and in less than a minute, you are melting in his arms. Your center aches with want, and you break the kiss to whisper in his ear, " _Please_..."

A split second later, each man has one of your hands and they are glaring at each other, both looking more and more possessive of you the longer they stare at each other.

"I kissed her first-"

"You haven't touched her in a week-"

"It was my experiment in the first-"

"Which you made me a part of so I get a say-"

"John, clearly you aren't-"

"Well maybe you should-"

"ENOUGH!" You shout, startling them both. Glaring at each one of them in turn, you tug your hands free and walk a few feet away. "Now then... seeing as both of you are rather keen and I'm about to explode from want and from the tension in this room... how about you _share_?"

Both men look slightly stunned, but Sherlock recovers first. "That can be arranged."

"Oi!" John pipes up, "Do I get a say in this?"

"Since your signs of arousal are even more prominent than my own, I think your body has spoken for you, John."

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT IT?!" you shout. "Honestly, it's like talking to two five-year-olds who want the same toy..." You break off, your face heating at your choice of words and at their twin smirks.

John steps forward, offering his hand. "I think I can share. Sherlock?"

"If I must."

You dance out of John's reach and head for Sherlock's room; you know it smells of you since you've been sleeping there, and it's where the experiments have happened thus far. You hear them follow, and soon all of you are in the room, and the door is shut behind you.

You watch as they both strip slowly, revealing taught muscle and tanned and pale skin, Sherlock looking like some kind of wiry sculpture, and John looking like... well... _John_. You have no other category for the handsome blonde... who is now approaching you, bare and at attention as he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, a slow slide of lips and tongues that has you whimpering in seconds. Sherlock comes up behind you and starts kissing your neck, working the skin with his tongue and teeth until you feel it grow sore; there will be a large love bite there in the morning.

John swallows your moan as both men start to strip you, working your blouse off first and then your bra, the doctor's hands working the warm flesh of your breasts with his dexterous fingers, tweaking your nipples as Sherlock tugs your jeans down your body. You step out of them as the detective hooks his fingers into the waistband of your knickers. You drag John back in for another kiss as the taller man behind you strips off your last article of clothing. They are both pressed against you for a moment before Sherlock turns you, leaving your shoulders and neck for John as the detective claims your mouth.

Their arousals are more and more obvious by the second, and you finally break the kiss for air, leaning back against John who groans appreciatively. "How do you boys want me?"

You know they're sharing a look and working things out silently because after a minute John pulls you over to the bed and lays down, beckoning for you to follow. He digs out two condoms from the side table and tosses one to Sherlock.

"You seem to like with when you know you're being watched, so John will take you first with me right in front of you. You can watch me watch you," Sherlock said, sheathing himself in his condom and moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

Your mouth is extremely dry as you sit on the bed next to John. He leans in and kisses you, soon having you squirming under his touch. He helps you onto your hands and knees so that you are facing Sherlock and the doctor is behind you. He presses kisses to your lower back as you feel him enter you. It has been far too long since you've done this position, and the angle reaches deep inside. You can feel every inch of him as he settles in you, groaning and whispering your name.

Hesitating slightly, you glance up at Sherlock... and you nearly come from the expression on his face. It's pure, unbridled want and... _jealousy_  is there too. He wants to be the one making you gasp and squirm, but he's watching for the experiment. As John starts to move, you notice the detective's arousal is close enough to touch, so you reach out a hand to him.

He isn't expecting that.

Your hand works him first with firm, long strokes, but as he leans closer and John moves faster, pounding into you, you tug off the condom and slip Sherlock into your mouth, letting the momentum of the man in you work you on and off the cock you're currently sucking and licking without mercy.

Sherlock's hands find their way to your hair as he struggles to stay standing. You're eyes haven't left his face once, and when you feel John reach around to touch you, you come, screaming around Sherlock as you continue to work him. John's not done and switches to short, fast thrusts, still teasing your clit. You're trembling from overstimulation as you give one good, long suck to Sherlock and he comes, growling your name and tightening his hands in your hair; this sends John over the edge, and he adds his voice to Sherlock's, both men crying out for you.

The doctor slowly pulls out, and both men dispose of their condoms before collapsing onto the mattress with you; you trade kisses with them for several minutes before John reminds you of the takeaway. Smiling at him, you slowly sit up and take Sherlock's dressing gown from the wardrobe. Slipping it on, you wink at your Baker Street Boys as you head into the kitchen to set up three plates of Chinese.


	14. I Like to Hear You Talk- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A frequent speaker at your University is the illustrious DI Lestrade...with a voice that easily melts you into a puddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lestrades_Lady for this one. She said, and I quote: " How about some voice kink, then? I swear, I could happily listen to the man read a dictionary. :)" Well, your wish is our command.

You've been attending the local college, taking some classes on the modern police and law enforcement system. A regular guest speaker is a local DI from the Met... and dear _God_ is he attractive: built like a footballer, silver hair, laughing brown eyes and a kind smile... and his _voice_. That's what really clinches it for you; you could listen to him talk for hours, even if he were just reading the phone book. His voice is warm and comforting and has now featured itself prominently in a great many of your recent fantasies.

Its near the end of the semester when you finally, _finally_ work up the courage to go and see him after class. He's packing away his notes, and the other students are filing out the door, eager to get to the pubs or their rooms or the dining hall. You wait until everyone is gone, and it's just you and him.  "Ah... I've really enjoyed listening to what you have to say," you manage to stammer. You immediately curse yourself mentally, feeling like a right and utter prawn.

He, however, looks pleasantly surprised; all of your classmates have been bored out of their skulls. "Really? That's very kind of you," he says, and you nearly melt. That _voice_.

"Actually, I was wondering... um... d'youwannagooutforadrinkwithme?" You blurt it out, your face a bright red, feeling like you're in primary school again. He blinks, then a slow, crooked smile spreads across his face.

"Yeah, actually. I'd like that a lot." _Holy shit! He actually agreed! And he said that he'd like that a lot!!_! You can barely believe your luck. You feel yourself grinning, and are keeping down the urge to squeal and jump up and down in glee.

"Shall we, then?" you ask. He laughs, a warm chuckle that makes you blush more.

"Lead the way."

oOoOo

You and the DI (Lestrade... but he has insisted "Call me Greg" to your great pleasure) have made your way to the local pub where you insist upon buying him a pint. He laughs and thanks you, taking a grateful drink of the lager. You end up getting at least three more rounds, and by the end, you are pleasantly buzzed.  He's laughing more and talking freely which you are completely fine with. Your inhibitions are sufficiently lowered enough by the alcohol that you admit to him that you love hearing him talk, and as soon as the words have left your mouth, you slap your hands over it, mortified. You _never_ wanted him to know that... it took enough courage as it was to ask him out for a drink. Greg is surprised, spluttering into his glass; once he regains his composure, though, a slow, hot smile spreads its way across his face.

"Really..." he drawls in a way that makes you swallow hard and squirm slightly in your chair. He's observant enough to have caught this and he chuckles low in his throat which makes you flush even more. "Well then... let's say we take this back to my flat. I'm sure I have... a story or two that I could regale you with," he says. You are absolutely dumbfounded, too shocked to do more than nod and pay for your drinks as you stand to follow him out of the bar.

oOoOo

You wander back to Greg's flat. It's homey and a bit rough around the edges, much like him; he's a gentleman and takes your coat.

"So... you said you were gonna tell me a story?" you ask him. Greg smirks.

"Shouldn't I tuck you in first?" he says. Your eyes go wide; oh _my_.  He looks mortified.

"Oh my god! That was too forward of me, I'm sorry," he apologizes. You shut him up by placing your fingers over his lips, then removing them and kissing him soundly. He freezes, then pulls you to him, cupping the back of your head with one hand, the other gripping your waist gently. You almost melt when his tongue brushes the seam of your lips, and you moan, allowing him entrance to your mouth; he takes the offer and you taste each other. His hand at your waist begins to slide slowly downwards, and yours, which are resting on his chest, go to link around his neck. You _want_ him and, judging by the steadily growing bulge that you feel pressed against your belly, he wants you too. Your hands are fisted in his silver hair, and he's cupping your arse to hold you against him.

"What was that about tucking me in?" you murmur into his ear when you both break for breath. His eyes are smoldering with need and he drags you into the bedroom.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll rock you to sleep," he says, his voice hoarse with lust. You shiver and bite your lip and he smirks. "Right... you like hearing me _talk_. So... what shall I talk about, hm?" he asks you. Your brain short-circuits, so he decides to kiss you to be sure it stays that way, apparently. "Get out of those clothes. I want to see you _bare_ ," he growls. You obey in a trice, stripping your clothes off so fast that you nearly rip them in your haste. You're soon naked, your chest heaving as you fight to keep from crossing your arms in front of you to cover yourself. His eyes rake slowly down your form.

"Ohhhh... yes, that's good," he murmurs. He bends his head and mouths along your collarbone, making you gasp. He trails his lips to the hollow of your throat and then down, until he takes a nipple into his mouth and suckles it. You cry out, the sensation shooting between your legs, causing a fire to start burning in your belly. He backs you up to the bed, laying you down on it. He strips himself, and you see him, hard and wet and _wanting_. You swallow, saliva suddenly pooling in your mouth. He joins you, gently spreading your legs.

"Close your eyes," he whispers into your ear, and you do. Then... oh, and _then_... he starts talking. "Such an eager girl you are... you're soaked already," and you jump when you feel his fingers at your sex. He trails them around your outer folds. "So hot and wet. All for _me_." He plunges one finger into you, then adds a second. "God, and so _tight_. Gonna be a tricky fit, luv," he groans, curling them inside you. Your back arches and your hips buck into his hand as he moves, keening at his work. Greg chuckles. "Since you like hearing me talk, I like hearing you like this. Panting, moaning... all those little filthy noises, all for _me_." You can't do much more than nod. You nearly bite through your lip.

"Oh please, Gregory... please, please, _please_..." you beg. You can almost hear him smirk.

"Please what?"

"Please...  _take me_." You can hear him growl and that nearly sends you over the edge. He takes his fingers from inside of you, and you can hear him pop them into his mouth.

"So _sweet_. Need to try more of that," he says. You make a noise of surprise that turns into a wail of pleasure as you feel that clever tongue on you, lapping your folds before darting up to kiss your clit. Your hands fist into the sheets and you rock desperately. You're so close that you can see stars behind your closed eyelids, but just as you're about to come, he stops. You whine in frustration.

"Why'd you stop?" you complain. He gives a gruff chuckle.

"Because I want to feel you shatter around me," he purrs, and he plunges into you. Your breath leaves you in a rush. Oh god... he's perfect, thick and hard and so _hot_ inside of you. You link your ankles around his hips as he hisses.

"God... just like I said, a tricky fit. Jesus _fuck_ , you're so tight," he pants, and you nearly come just at hearing that gorgeous voice curse. He begins to move, circling his hips slowly before rolling them, pressing into you before slipping out almost all the way. You claw down his back, sure that you're leaving welts and marks; Greg snarls and begins to move faster, punctuating each thrust with a word.

"I-want-you-to-come... just-for- _me_. Go-on-luv... just-give-in..."

And you do. You shatter and cry out, clenching around him as you come so hard that it feels like you're going to explode. You babble words that have no meaning, and you think you catch some Latin in there, a religious experience, has you speaking in tongues. He's not far behind, grunting as he pulses and jerks inside of you, grabbing your hips as he slams into you once, twice, three times before he's done.

The both of you are spent, and coming down off your high. He rolls off of you and disposes of the condom that you hadn't seen him roll on. You blink sleepily at him.

"Well... you said rock me to sleep and you delivered. Feel like I'll sleep for a month," you mumble to him. He chuckles and pulls the covers over you.

"If I had known that you liked that, I wish you'd have come up to me earlier. That was great, for the both of us," he says. You grin. A silver tongue for a silver fox... one that you certainly intend upon keeping.


	15. Ten- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're only ten seconds late...but ten seconds can be an eternity.

Ten seconds, you've come to realize, is an awfully long time.

It's the time it takes to trip, catch yourself, and regain your previous momentum. It's the time it takes for a pleasant kiss.

It's also how late you are to Baker Street.

Even since that first experiment where Sherlock made you his sub, you've grown used to his texts at random times to meet in various places, usually his flat and sometimes yours, but you've always, _always_ been on time.

Today is the first time that you're late.

You stumble up the stairs and into the sitting room to see him in his chair, staring at his phone.

"You're late."

You struggle to regain your breath and stammer out an apology. "I'm s-sorry... t-tripped-"

"Is that all? Hardly an acceptable excuse. Have you learned nothing?"

You know he's angry and that this is completely the wrong time, but something about his voice just starts to melt you. He notices instantly.

"Tut-tut... at a time like this? If you want anything from me, you'll have to be punished for your tardiness. Do you think you can handle that?"

Your eyes widen, and you nod without even having to think. His features transform from disapproval into what you have dubbed his "plotting" look.

"Then we'll begin."

oOoOo

Ten is forever.

The first thing Sherlock does is blindfold you with one of John's ties before leading you back into his bedroom, the only room in the house with a hook in the ceiling. He strips you of everything, and your wrists are summarily bound and the rope attached to the hook. It's taught enough that you're stretched fairly tall but loose enough that you can rest most of the soles of your feet on the floor.

It's been ten minutes this time, ten minutes of hearing Sherlock walk around you, rummaging for things, closing curtains, locking the door. Ten minutes of hearing him breathe, focusing on that single sound. You can't tell where it is coming from, though. Even with your sight cut off, he sounds like he's everywhere.

"I have no use for a disobedient sub."

You start, not expecting him to sound so close. You can feel his breath on your ear and his lips hovering over your neck, but he doesn't touch you.

"Ten seconds late... ten seconds... I believe that calls for ten strokes, doesn't it?"

You nod. "Y-yes, Master."

"Very good. Now, count out loud for me."

You hear the riding crop before it hits your bum, stinging. "One, Master."

The next one lands on the other cheek, stinging more. "Two, Master."

Three fall in quick succession, two on your bum and one across your shoulders. "Three, Master... four Master... f-five, Master."

He leans in, exhaling a small puff of air on your shoulder. You fight the urge to lean towards him and grip the ropes around your wrists more firmly.

"Might still have use for you yet." One hit to each side of your ribs, one to the small of your back.

"Six Master... S-Seven Master... Eight. M-Master."

The last two land hard on your bum, and you can feel both cheeks flushing red. "Nine... M-Master... T-Ten... M-Master... th-thank you, Master."

" _Well done_ ," he breathes into your ear, tracing the leather of the crop down your spine before giving the back of your knees a light tap. You sag against your bonds, holding yourself up by the ropes as best you can. You hear his trousers unzip and a condom open.

"I'm still angry, so I'm going to take you just like this. I'm not even going to undress," he purrs, rubbing his length along the cleft of your arse. You swallow hard, nodding to show you understand. His hands find your hips and spread your legs as he takes you from behind in one swift thrust. You bite your lip almost until it bleeds to keep from making a sound. You can feel his fingers digging into your flesh so hard they'll leave bruises, but you say nothing, taking what he gives you.

"Come now... can't stay quiet the whole time... let me _hear_ you."

Given permission, you start to moan and whimper, loving the feeling of him in you, but it's not enough for you to come, and he knows it. Sherlock keeps driving into you roughly, whispering in your ear. "I don't tolerate tardiness or sloppiness... if you're my sub... you'll do what I say... when I say... and you won't complain... or talk back... am I ... understood?"

"Y-yes, Master!" you gasp, aching and burning, the desire to come more than you can stand but the angle and friction just not quite enough.

Ten more seconds and he comes hard, growling and snarling as he bites your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a fairly vivid bruise. You cry his name, riding out his climax; you haven't come. He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before removing your blindfold. You squint as your eyes meet his ice blue gaze. "Be on time next time or I won't be quite so generous."

"Y-yes, Master."

He drops two fingers to your clit, rubbing and tweaking, working you until you come screaming his name, sobbing as you sag against the ropes. Before you pass out, he whispers one last thing in your ear.

"That will do."


	16. Blissful Torture- Mycroft and Anthea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are Mycroft's Sub, but he's brought a fellow Dom with him to play today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Badger: Dom!Mycroft and Dom!Anthea. Sharing. Please include bondage, spanking, pleasure teasing to the point of tears, and lots of nipple play.
> 
> I only hope we live up to your expectations.

You fidget nervously in your blindfold against your bonds. You've been sub for Mycroft for a good three months now, and he had surprised you with a text ordering you to come to his office. He _never_ has you in his office, too many sensitive government secrets at risk, you reason. But apparently, there's something today that warrants a change in his usually rigorous schedule. You arrive on time, and he orders you to strip as he gets the ropes ready. There's a special room off of his office, a soundproofed one that has hooks and a bed. A playroom in the Old Bailey? You wonder how long it's been here, if indeed there _was_ a room here originally...or if Mycroft had this set up special.

You tug slightly, your hearing and other senses sharper now that you are deprived of your sight. You hear the door open as Mycroft walks in, accompanied by another set of footsteps. You catch a scent...a woman's perfume. Your heartbeat ratchets up: Mycroft has brought in another person to play. You instantly feel ashamed, but there's that thrill of lust under your humiliation, and you know that Mycroft wouldn't let just _anyone_ in on his time with you. This person has to be one he trusts implicitly, one he's known for a long time.

"My dear, Anthea will be with us today. Do you understand?" he says in your ear. You jump; you hadn't heard him approach. You nod, though, giving your consent. What else can you do?

"Mycroft, wherever _did_ you get such a pretty little pet?" you hear a smooth, feminine voice say, close to your other ear. You start as you feel a cool hand on your skin, tracing downwards from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine, resting just above the curve of your arse. You can hear Mycroft chuckle.

"Oh, just found her. Taught her a lesson, and here she is," he said. The woman- _Anthea, Master said_ ,- chuckles as well. Her touch leaves you, and then you almost moan as you feel hands palming your breasts, cupping them, lifting them. The clever fingers pinch at your nipples and you feel your knees go weak. They've always been sensitive, but the anticipation is heightening every sensation, making you almost hyper-aware. The fingers tug and twist and you gasp and moan, arching into them. There's a sudden - _whoosh_ \- and a hot sting as the crop hits your backside.

"No noise unless I _command_ it," Mycroft's stern voice breaks through the room and the haze of lust in your mind. You can hear Anthea chuckle again as she continues her ministrations. You bite your lip hard as you fight not to cry out, breaking the skin when you feel a warm, wet mouth on your breasts...one for each of them. Your breath sobs in your throat as you arch into them.

"What do you think, Mycroft? She's been a good little pet so far. I'm impressed with your training of her," Anthea says. He makes a noncommittal noise of agreement.

"Perhaps," he says. You sag for a moment against the ropes, desperate for a touch, _any_ touch... even the sting of the crop... which is exactly what happens when you hear the whistle through the air and the bite of the leather against your skin. You clutch at the ropes, standing straight and on your tiptoes at the sudden pain; you squeal. Mycroft chuckles and purrs in your ear.

"Good, little pet, good. Let us hear you," he says. Each lash of the crop has you giving little cries of pain and pleasure, the pleasure becoming more intense when Anthea bends to your breasts again and pays them homage with her lips, teeth and tongue. You can feel tears leaking out from the corners of your eyes behind your blindfold, trailing down your cheeks.

"Oooh, Mycroft... your little pet is leaking," Anthea says, clucking in mock sympathy.

"Shall we give her something to cry about?" he asks. She laughs.

"Like you even have to say something like that," is the reply. You can fairly _hear_ Mycroft's smirk. He fetches the nipple clamps and attaches them to you, the small weight a torture and a paradise both.

"Count how many strikes, pet. Count aloud for us." He winds up, you hear the whistle...- _SMACK_ -.

"O-one, Master!" - _SMACK_ \- "Two, Master!" - _SMACK_ \- "Ten, Master!" At thirteen, you're a writhing, crying bundle of nerves, so aroused and so sore that you don't know whether to come or to weep.

"I think such diligence and patience should be rewarded, Anthea. Don't you?" Mycroft murmurs.

"Mmm, yes. Such a _good_ little pet," she says, stroking a hand through your now sweat-damp hair. You can hear the whisper of cloth as she kneels, and her mouth is on your sex, lapping and darting her tongue against your folds. You nearly cry out, but what sends you over the edge is the feeling of Mycroft entering you from behind, pulling your hips up and back so he can easily thrust into you. The combined treatments has you in a drooling, panting mess.

"Come for us, little one. Come for your Master and Mistress," Mycroft hisses into your ear as he moves within you. You break and arch and cry out, their names on your tongue as every muscle in your body seems to twitch at once. You sag against the ropes as you feel Mycroft come inside his condom, a guttural groan of your proper name on his lips as he empties himself. You are left bound and blindfolded, though, as Anthea stands.

"Goodbye, little pet. Mycroft, we must do this again some time. Maybe I should bring _my_ pet along for a play date next time. I'm sure he'd get along just _swimmingly_ with her," she says. You swallow hard. _Play date indeed_.


	17. Trust Us- Jim and Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're working in the library when someone accidentally drops their things on yours...you look up to see Jim Moriarty there, the clever boy in several of your classes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request by Alice: Jim (and Seb if he wants to) taking the virginity of a really innocent girl. I tried my hand at oblivious as well, but not sure if it reads too well. And to call the girl 'pet'. Anyhow, I hope it lives up to expectations

You're curled up in a corner of the library with a rather large book in your lap as you take notes. Your books and papers are spread around your feet as you pour over the old and dusty tome, gathering the last of the research you need for your essay. A few more minutes and you can return to your room and polish off the rough draft of your thesis a full week early.

Someone approaches and stumbles, his satchel falling open and spilling books and papers everywhere. "Sorry, ever so sorry," he murmurs.

You slide the book from your lap and close it with your notes marking your place as you move to help him gather his things. Then you look up, and your heart may as well have stopped because Jim Moriarty is staring at you, and you can barely think. "S-s-sorry," you gasp as you sort through the mess, finding your things and quickly packing up your bag.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who dropped my things on yours." He offers his hand. "Jim Moriarty... hiiiii."

"I- I- I know who you are," you stutter, taking his hand; you nearly faint as he kisses your knuckles. You give him your name, blushing to beat the band.

"I know. You're in my English and History classes, more than a bit bright."

He's giving you compliments. _Jim freaking Moriarty_ knows who you are. Part of you wants to be suave and say something intelligent, and the other part wants to melt into the floor and vanish. He sees your expression and chuckles softly. "Listen, I was just on my way back to my room to study for the exam. Care to join me?"

You have just enough presence of mind to nod yes, relishing the smile he gives you in return. He offers his arm, and you take it, balancing your bag and the book for your research as you follow him through the hallways and back to his dorm.

oOoOo

His room seems larger than most, but all of the furniture is up against the walls, making for a fair amount of free floor space which you suppose makes it seem so huge. He drops his things on his desk before toeing off his shoes and collapsing on his bed. "Make yourself at home."

You nod, smiling shyly as you set your things down, taking off your shoes as well before looking around curiously. His side is neat and tidy, everything organized almost to an OCD level. The other side of the room, while neat, has a few more things strewn about, more papers and books out of place.

"That belongs to Sebby, my roommate."

"Sebby... Sebastian Moran is your roommate?"

"Of course he is... is that a problem?"

"Oh! No, no it's not a problem. Why would it be a problem? There's no problem here..." You're babbling and you know it, so you clamp your hands over your mouth to make yourself stop. Jim is smiling at you as he slides off his bed and walks over, gently prying your hands away from your mouth.

"Don't do that. It's cute. Endearing even," he murmurs, looking into your eyes. You notice how brown and deep his are, swiftly getting lost in them as they get closer. When his lips touch yours, you're surprised and try to move, but he has your wrists captured still... and he's just so _gentle_. It's  brush of skin on skin, and he pulls back after a few seconds. "Was that all right?"

You nod, your mouth dry; you hadn't realized until that moment how much you had wanted exactly that. He leans back in and kisses you again, slotting his mouth over yours, and you let out a small whimper; _no one_ has ever kissed you before.

You're worried you might be bad, but his hands slide around your waist and pull you a bit closer, and he's humming softly as he kisses you. This time when you break away, his lips travel over your cheek to your ear. "I've wanted to do that for a _long_ time, pet," he whispers before pressing a kiss to your ear. Jim keeps kissing your skin, working his mouth down to your neck where he sucks on a small spot, gently at first, but then he adds his teeth and tongue and suddenly you're gasping his name and clutching at him for support lest your legs give out.

He chuckles softly, kissing the bruise before meeting your eyes again. You can see the difference in his gaze this time, more black than brown, and you start to lean in for another kiss when the door opens and Sebastian walks in. You blush furiously and try to hide behind Jim, but he pulls you close and slips his arm around your waist, keeping you by his side. "Evening, Sebby."

"Hello, Jim... and _hello_. Is she the one you've been talking about, Boss? The clever girl in a few of your classes?"

"The very same."

The taller boy saunters forward and stops in front of you, taking your hand and kissing it much as Jim had. "If you don't mind," he murmurs, his blue eyes capturing yours, "I'd very much like to kiss you right now. Jim's told me so much about you that... and it's rather silly, but I have a bit of a thing for you."

Flattered beyond all reckoning, you barely manage to nod, not even noticing as Jim's touch vanishes and Seb's replaces it, his hands cradling your face before he ducks in for a kiss. His lips are just as soft as Jim's, but you can feel the slight scratch of stubble against your cheek as your mouths move and meld together. He's subtly teaching you a few techniques, and when his tongue darts out to caress the seam of your lips, your knees grow weak, but of course, that's nothing compared to when his tongue actually enters your mouth, exploring and tasting and caressing.

The way these boys look at you... no one's ever given you that look before, the look that says you are desirable.

You're so wrapped up in Seb that you almost forget about Jim, but he makes his presence known as his mouth finds the back of your neck, pulling your blouse down slightly so he can taste the skin of your shoulders. Trembling, you lean into Seb for support, a moan escaping your lips at the feeling of both boys' mouths on your body.

"You taste divine," Jim whispers, licking up to your neck as his hands brush your sides.

"I agree," Sebastian growls into your mouth before capturing your tongue and sucking on it lightly.

You squeak as he works on your tongue, sagging in their embrace as your legs forget how to work. When they end the kisses, they lead you over to Jim's bed and sit you down, letting you catch your breath. Jim sits beside you, stroking your hair as you breathe deeply. "Now then, pet, there is something I'd very much like to do and, if it's all right, Sebby here would love to join in... I would be more than honored if you would let me take you to bed."

Your eyes widen, and your face flushes as you look down, finding your nails extremely interesting. After a moment, you mumble that you're a virgin and really don't know what you're doing, silently wishing that you could vanish and be anywhere else.

"Yes, but that's where we come in. We _do_ know what to do, and, quite frankly, pet, we're rather smitten with you."

You look up at him, your eyes watering slightly from embarrassment. He clucks his tongue and opens his arms. "There's nothing to be ashamed or afraid of," he whispers. The bed dips on your other side, and now Seb's arms are around you as well, the larger boy pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head. "There there, now. Jim and Sebby will take good care of you, precious pet."

A few tears trickle down your face before you meet Jim's gaze again; your sadness begins to fade as you become intrigued with a new look in his eyes. Then he's kissing you again and you barely notice as Seb eases off your blouse and skirt, folding your clothes and laying them on Jim's chair. The blonde eases your bra off next, and that you do notice, but Jim distracts you with his tongue as Seb takes your breasts in hand, massaging the flesh and rolling the nipples between his fingers.

You yelp in surprise as you discover how sensitive you are there, and after his fingers are done, Seb takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks at it, and you cry out into Jim's mouth which is still working your own. A few minutes later, you are practically a puddle of trembling schoolgirl in their arms.

They help you to lay down with your head against the pillow, and Seb takes his shirt and jeans off before laying next to you in his pants, one hand brushing along your arm as he presses kisses to your shoulder. Jim also strips down to his pants and kneels between your legs as he eases your knickers off your body. You bite your lip and start to feel ashamed of yourself again, but Seb leans up and takes your mouth with his, murmuring how beautiful you are between kisses.

Jim's fingers trail over your sex, tracing the folds and gently rubbing your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut as sensations start to flood you, overwhelm you. Seb moves his lips to your neck, purring that he wants to hear the noises you're making, and when Jim adds his mouth and tongue to you, you do start to make noise: little mews and whimpers and gasps of pleasure and anxiety. His fingers are slowly working in and out of you, and your body shivers as he seems to hold you on the balance of something... of what, you aren't quite sure.

The pale boy presses a final kiss to you and slides his pants off the rest of the way, fishing a condom from his desk and rolling it on. Seb is distracting you by sucking another mark on your neck just above the one that Jim has already left, so when Jim starts to press into you, it comes as a surprise. You jump slightly and start to squirm, but his hands rub circles on your hips and Seb brushes hair from your forehead. "Trust us,' he murmurs into your ear, "we've wanted this for a very long time." You bite your lip for a second, and then nod at Jim to keep going. He eases himself into you...

God, there is someone actually _inside_ you for the first time in your life. It hurts, yes, and it stretches a bit uncomfortably, but it's extremely wet and hot, and then he rocks within you gently and...  _oh_. The pain is replaced by a wave of what you  can only describe as pleasure. You moan loudly in response, turning your head and seeking Seb's mouth. He kisses you passionately, shifting so that he can lean over you and kiss you, his hands back to fondling your breasts.

The combined touches of them both have you trying to focus every which way. Every thrust from Jim makes you moan, but when Seb tweaks your nipples or squeezes your breasts, your breath hitches, and you're forced to gasp for air. Through the haze and fog settling in your mind, you can hear Jim speaking to you.

"Goodness, pet, you're so _tight_... truly beautiful, just look at you... yes, that's it, let go... just relax... we've got you... Jim and Seb have got you."

He's moving faster now, and Sebby's ministrations are growing a bit more rough. He tears his lips away from your to kiss and lick along your collarbone. Your chest is heaving and you are beginning to sweat as an unfamiliar pressure seems to build in your lower half. Glancing up, you meet Jim's gaze, his brown eyes almost completely black with lust and desire... just for you.

"Come for me, pet."

You aren't sure what happens next because suddenly everything you're feeling seems to rush down and explode, rocking through your whole body as you scream their names. You tremor violently, and you can feel your heartbeat pulsing in your sex. It isn't until you feel warmth beside you that you realize that Jim has pulled out and taken care of the condom before gathering you into his arms and cradling you close. Seb disappears for a few moments, and you think you hear him groan your name, and then he is back, draping a blanket over the three of you as you cuddle on Jim's bed.

Both boys shower you with kisses, murmuring compliments and praise as you slowly drift off to sleep, a smile playing on your mouth that you feel two pairs of lips try to kiss away.


	18. Just an Act- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally get enough courage to ask out the British Government...but he doesn't seem to quite understand everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request by curiousdreamweaver who asked for: "Mycroft being a tease would be really nice. As in acting oblivious to the effect he's having and then having that knowing grin on his face."

You've had a crush on Mycroft Holmes for pretty much as long as you can remember; you don't even know how it started, probably when he said something so brilliantly clever that it made your brain stutter for a moment... which, knowing him, was probably about three seconds after he introduced himself. But you're too shy to say anything, so you've let your feelings remain unrequited for years. Finally, you screw up all of your courage and ask him out for a date and you nearly have an aneurysm when agrees. And _smiles_. You can count the number of times that he's smiled on one hand.

The time for the dinner rolls around and you're primping in the mirror, absolutely terrified. What if he doesn't like you? What if he cancels? What if he doesn't show up at all? But all of your panic disappears when you hear the knock on your door. He's impeccably dressed, as always, and you can feel the butterflies that have spawned in your stomach throw a party. He  smiles again (wonder of wonders, twice in a day!) and offers you his arm, ever the gentleman.

Dinner is marvelous, and it's come time to walk you home (all too soon, you think). He gently drapes his suit jacket around your shoulders so you won't "be cold," according to him; you relish in the thought of wearing his clothing, his scent enveloping you. Once you've reached the door to your flat, you stammer something inane like "Thank you for the lovely evening." But before you turn to go inside, he stops you.

"I believe a good-night kiss is customary?" he murmurs. Your eyes go wide and all you can do is nod.

He smirks and you melt a little inside. "Oh good, my information _was_ correct after all," he says. He walks over to you and bends down, brushing his lips briefly against yours. The light touch thrills you to no end. "Was that acceptable?" he asks. You shake your head. That wasn't a kiss, that was barely anything at all! He tilts his head to one side.

"Well, that simply will not do. A gentleman must never disappoint a lady, after all," he says, then settles his mouth more firmly on yours. You exhale sharply, and your arms go up to wind around his shoulders. His hands are at the curve of your lower back, and you can feel yourself heating up by slow degrees. He makes an interested hum, like he's figuring something out, then you can feel his tongue nudging at the seam of your lips; you part them in surprise, and he takes advantage of it, tasting you. This makes your knees weak, and he nearly has to hold you up, causing his hands to drop to your hips, clutching you to him. When you regain some semblance of rational thought, he's regarding you with those cool eyes of his. However, he's a little more... flustered than you've seen him. His hair is in slight disarray (from where your arm nudged it) and he looks like he wants to continue.

"C-come inside?" you ask him. His eyebrows go up and you clap your hand to your mouth and turn a bright shade of red, your accidental innuendo hitting you in the face.

"Why, thank you, I shall. It's a bit chilly out here," Mycroft says. You breathe a sigh of relief. Thank _God_ he was generally oblivious to things like that. Your mind has rolled into the gutter far too often, clearly. You invite him inside and offer him a cuppa which he gently refuses. You swallow hard and fidget more. He looks around, committing the layout of your flat to memory.

"Shall we try again?" he asks, and you nearly keel over and die. You nod, though, and cross to him and he claims your mouth once more. He's less fumbling this time, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head at his skill. Suddenly, you feel the slightest of touches against your breasts. The touch rapidly firms and you arch into it, gasping into his mouth. You can feel him grin, even as he's otherwise occupied. He tentatively squeezes and you moan; he answers with one of his own, and you feel a flare of heat between your legs that's so strong, you wouldn't be surprised if it raised your body temperature by three degrees. He rubs his thumbs over your nipples, and you whimper. You break the kiss long enough to beg. "M-Mycroft...  _please_..."

He looks a bit confused. "Please? Please what?" he asks.

"More! I... I _need_ you," you plead. He closes his eyes and swallows hard. When he opens them again, whatever color in them is gone, pressed to the edge by his fully dilated pupils.

"Sod this act," he growls, then slants his mouth over yours and _really_ kisses you. You reel as he employs a skill that you've never before seen or heard about him expressing them. You grab at him, keeping him close. He chuckles into your mouth and his skillful hands set to work, tweaking and rubbing.

You scrabble at his clothing, wanting him _here_ and _now_ ; you say as much, growling the words. It causes the usually composed man who is intense to delay his movements and gently push you in the direction of your bedroom. You let him guide you there and start to undress you, leaving puddles of clothes behind.

Your hands to go assist him with his own clothing, unbuttoning buttons and moving things aside. You're bare before each other, and the both of you take in the sight of each other completely naked, wanting each other something desperate. His cock is hard and slick, slightly curved from its nest of ginger curls, and your own womanhood is already soaked. You fall upon each other like animals, kissing, licking, biting. He nearly throws you to the bed and is hovering over you in an instant, his mouth on your neck as he fits himself between your legs.

He rocks inside of you, slowly, so slowly, sheathing himself to the hilt. You hiss and clench around him, and he groans and speeds his thrusts into you, making you squeal as you link your ankles around his hips, driving him deeper. He circles his hips, and your eyes roll back into your head as you arch up into him.

"Been- waiting- so-  _long_ \- for- this," he growls into your ear. You keen and nod; so have you. After this confession, you shatter, pulling him deeper into yourself as you groan and scream his name. He snarls and goes harder...finally losing himself with a low groan of your name. After he pulls out, you cuddle in the afterglow.

"So why all the secrecy?" you finally ask him. He makes an embarrassed noise.

"I wanted to see how long it would take for you to ask me out on a date. And here we are," he says, grinning. You smack his shoulder lightly, but you both laugh it off. Who knew that being oblivious would cause such an _eventful_ date?


	19. Why the Hell Not?- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been eyeing him up the hulking blonde and then he offers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by our current WIP (The Adventures of the Magpie's Song), we both wanted to see Seb take someone against a wall.

You meet him at the bar you frequent, and from the moment that you lay eyes on him, you are lost. He's at least six-foot-three, if not taller, has broad shoulders, long limbs, blonde curls, and the bluest eyes that you've ever seen. You try to be stealthy when you steal glances at him from across the room, but apparently, you aren't as subtle as you thought. You're just taking a sip of your drink when a sudden shadow crosses your field of vision. You look up and nearly choke; it's him, the man you've been admiring.

"Do you see something you like? I've caught you looking at me since you walked in," he says. You nod. You know that somehow _he'll_ know if you're lying. He rumbles a chuckle and sits down in the chair across from you.

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself," he drawls. You blush brightly, making him smirk.

"I'm Sebastian, by the way. However, it might be easier to call me Seb or Sebby," he says, his eyes locked with yours.

"Why would it be easier?" you ask, a bit perplexed. He leers at you.

"Shorter to cry out when I'm inside you." Your eyes grow wide and your jaw drops. At the same time, though, you squirm. You curse him mentally for doing this to you, but at the same time you want him so _bad_ that it nearly hurts. He catches your slight movement and his leer grows wider.

"Want to go find out if either the nickname or the full name works better?" he says, his voice low. You bite your lip and think; you've never been this wanton (or desperate), but you have to think: _Why the hell not_? You're never going to see him again and he's never going to pursue you for want of a relationship, so you might as well get off with this gorgeous man while you're still young. Your eyes meet his and you nod.

He looks pleasantly surprised, then his bright blue eyes go _dark_. You swallow hard at the change. It sets you on edge and turns you on at the same time. "Come with me," he murmurs. You stand and follow him, one of his large hands pressed to the small of your back, guiding you out of the bar and into the night.

He takes you to a back alley, well-hidden from the view of the street. He checks to make sure that you're alone, and once he's satisfied that no one is watching you, Sebastian takes your mouth, rough and fast. You gasp and moan into the kiss, opening your lips to allow his tongue freedom to roam inside your mouth. He makes some sort of strangled noise.

"You taste good," he says as he breaks the kiss, both of you breathing hard. You try to say 'So do you', but all that comes out is some string of nonsense words.

Seb smirks and starts pushing you backwards. You walk with his guidance, until your back hits the brick wall of the alley. Your breath suddenly leaves you in a rush. You know where this is going, and you _want_ it to go there. Apparently, he can see your resolve in the dim light of the halogen lamp that's at the street corner, and his smirk turns into a full-on grin.

"I'd say last chance to back out, but it seems that you've made up your mind," he murmurs into your ear before he nips at the lobe. You whimper and he responds by pressing into you. You can feel the bulge of his arousal through his jeans and... sweet _Christ_ , he's a monster. You pale for a moment; no way in _hell_ is all of that going to fit inside of you, but you take a deep breath to steady yourself; no turning back now.

He brings up one of your legs to drape around his hips, and he rocks against your core. You arch and moan, suddenly becoming so turned on that it hurts. He slides his hands over your breasts before hiking up your shirt to cup them, his fingers ghosting over your nipples through the silky fabric of your bra. He pinches them and twists which makes you buck into him with a cry. He chuckles.

"Like that, do you?" he says, and you growl, pulling him down for another kiss. You pour everything you have into it, all your skill, kissing and lapping at his mouth, setting your teeth gently into his bottom lip. He pulls back, only the thinnest ring of blue surrounding his pupils.

"So, that's how it's going to be, hm? A fine start," he growls, then lowers his mouth to your neck. Oh, it is blissful torture, his teeth grazing your skin, sucking it, laving it with his tongue. You fist your hands into the fabric of his shirt as he grinds against you now, circling his hips in a slow, torturous manner. You somehow manage to undo the buttons of his top and purr as you expose his muscled torso. He raises an eyebrow and slips a hand under your skirt. He makes you lose your breath as he strokes two fingers along the now-soaked crotch of your knickers. This pleases him, apparently.

"Eager little one," he says, his eyes alight. "Go on... undress me," his voice defiant. You scramble with the button and zip of his jeans, working them open and palming his impressive erection through the light cloth of his boxer shorts. He lets out a strangled moan as he bucks into your hand, especially when you squeeze gently. Then he snarls.

"Move your hand. Enough teasing, I need you _now_." You move, as if pulled by strings. He rolls on a condom that he fishes from his pocket and pushes your undergarments away. He just brushes the head of his cock against your folds, making you whimper. You can hear him chuckle before he slowly, so _slowly_ , pushes into you all the way. You hook your fingernails into claws and drag them down his back as your mouth opens in a soundless scream, a wordless cry of pleasure. He hisses at the pain and  begins to pound into you, taking your other leg and bringing it up so that both your legs are locked around his hips as he drives into your yielding heat. Your back is grinding against the wall of the alley; you bury your fingers into those soft golden curls and _pull_ , making him stretch his head back. You admire the strong column of his throat and stretch up to place a nip at the flesh there. He moans and it makes you squirm more. He's rough and wanton, then he does something with his hips and his cock that makes you see stars.

"Aaah! Seb, Sebby, Sebastian, do that _again_!" you beg. He smirks and complies. You pull him in to you more, driving him home; you can feel yourself beginning to crest.

"Come for me, girl. Scream my name," he growls in your ear, and in an instant you are lost. Your mouth screams his praises as you fall over the edge, clamping and fluttering around him. After a few more thrusts, he follows, groaning low in his throat.

After some moments of just standing there, panting, he slips out of you and sets you gently on the ground, disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his jeans. You wobble, too well-fucked to stand properly. He steadies you and gives you a smile that's nearly fond. He tosses you a piece of paper; his mobile number is on it.

"You used all three. Ring me if you ever feel like you've settled on one, and we'll try it out," he says, smirking. You watch him as he swaggers off, a large smile on your face. Oh, you'd be using that number...and soon.


	20. Sharing- Mycroft, Sherlock, John, Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, your boyfriend Mycroft really wants to share you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Abby: She asked for Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Greg taking you in the Diogenes Club...well then...
> 
> Requested by Meganbobness: Mycroft Rimming

Mycroft escorts you through the doors of The Diogenes Club, and you can't help but feel a tad apprehensive. You know this is where the man works and that it's an all male club, but you haven't the foggiest idea _why_ he's brought you here in the first place. You've been dating him for a few months, and he's a wild animal in bed, bringing you to the point of pleasure and holding you there for as long as he pleases before letting you break.

In short, you've pretty much concluded that he's probably brought you here to take you in his office.

What you aren't prepared for is what greets your eyes when he opens the door to said room.

Your eyes widen as you take in the forms of John, Sherlock, and Greg, all in various states of undress (though no one past the 'shirt off' stage). They all turn and smile genially at you as Mycroft nudges you through the door, locking it behind you. You round on him, a questioning look in your eyes. He pulls you into an embrace, lowering his lips to your ear. "They've been begging to spend time with you, and I offered to share. They're all very keen, and I didn't think you'd mind... you haven't before when we've used the toys."

"That's different. That's just us."

"Please, darling, I would never put you in a situation that I did not trust you could handle brilliantly. They're all _extremely_ jealous that I have you all to myself."

You glance over your shoulder, noting how all three men are eyeing you appreciatively.

"I'll agree to a snog from each before I decide. Then if I say no, they leave. Deal?"

"Deal."

Swallowing hard, you turn and face the detective, doctor, and officer as Mycroft explains the bargain; Sherlock elects to go first. Now that you're in this situation, you allow yourself a moment to appreciate the younger Holmes, especially the sliver of pale skin you can see at his throat where his purple shirt is unbuttoned. He strides forward, not wasting time as he backs you against the wall of Mycroft's office. There's a muffled thump as your back hits the wood and then one hand is at your waist and the other cupping the base of your skull as he takes your mouth.

You never thought you would be kissing Sherlock Holmes, not in your wildest dreams. His lips are soft and cool, not as warm as Mycroft's (even though you are perfectly aware that your lover's nickname is "The Iceman"), and he's approaching kissing you as if it's some kind of experiment. He goes in one direction until he gets the desire response from you, be it a moan, hitched breath, gasp, and then tries something else. In less than five minutes, he knows your mouth better than his brother and has you in a constant state of suspense, knowing that whatever he does next will get some kind of noise from you...including when he presses you harder against the wall and his hands slip up your blouse to fondle your breasts.

Now _that_ , gets a growl and makes you press closer, clutching at his shirt until something happens, and he breaks the kiss. You blink, eyes unfocused as they open and you see him rubbing his head, John standing there looking both flushed and annoyed. "Mind your hands, Sherlock," he growls.

"Why does that matter?"

"Because you're practically molesting her."

"She doesn't seem to be complaining. If anything, she responded favorably to my touch."

"Oi, lay off," Greg chimes in, standing at ease and clearly enjoying just watching.

"I thought the entire point of this was to lay 'on', Detective Inspector," the consulting detective replies, his gaze turning back to you.

You can feel your knees start to weaken as you meet his eyes, taking in the exact shade of blue as his pupils push the color to the edge of his eyes. "I- I think it's... it's D-Doctor Watson's turn..." you whisper.

He smirks slightly but steps back, letting the stocky, blonde man approach. "Please, call me John," he says, brushing a few stray hairs from your forehead.

" _John_ ," you murmur, admiring his dark blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, a slight shiver going through your body at his touch.

"Relax, gorgeous," he murmurs, pressing his first kiss not to your lips, but to your neck, his hands resting politely on your shoulders. You manage to swallow as your mouth goes dry, and suddenly you want him to kiss you so bad that you can barely think. Your hands come up and hold onto his hips, tugging him a little closer; you feel him smile against your skin. "Like that, do you?"

"Y-yes..." Your voice is something of a strangled whimper.

He pulls away from your neck and stares at you for a full three seconds with unbridled want before he kisses you, moving slowly as he slots his mouth over yours and gently teases your lips open. It's so incredibly different from kissing Sherlock; John takes things nice and slow, making sure you're relaxed and comfortable before moving forward. The younger Holmes just seemed to jump right in without thinking.

Pretty soon, John's stroking your tongue with his own, his hands sliding down to mirror where yours are on his hips. You can feel the bulge in his jeans the longer he kisses you, and slowly, your hands come up to brush the skin of his chest; his shirt is unbuttoned but still on his shoulders. He groans into your mouth as your fingers rub his nipples, making them harden despite the warmth of the room; his grip tightens slightly as he presses a final kiss to your lips and steps back, catching his breath.

"Bloody hell, you're fantastic at that," he pants, his skin slightly flushed.

You blush and murmur your thanks for the compliment, returning it while you look at your shoes. You still feel a bit self conscious even though you've now kissed and been thoroughly kissed by three of the men in the room. Your eyes come to rest on Detective Inspector Lestrade, the only man of the four of them who has managed to get his shirt completely off. He beckons for you to come closer and you do, stumbling slightly and blushing as Sherlock steadies you. You make it to Lestrade without further incident and give him a hesitant smile.

"Two things. One: call me Greg, please. No formalities unless we all decide to have you use titles." He winks. "And two... take a deep breath, luv. You look like you might faint." He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are a little rougher than John and Sherlock's, and he kisses a bit harder than the good doctor. His hands creep down until they are cupping your arse and pressing you flush with his body, his lips breaking the kiss faster than the others in favor of latching onto your neck and sucking a definite bruise to the skin. He only releases you when the mark begins to turn purple.

Dizzy, body heated, and hair mussed, you turn back to Mycroft who is waiting for an answer.

" _Yes_."

A smile creeps across his face and he crosses the distance between you two and captures your lips in a heated kiss; it's made all the more intense from knowing that he can taste the others on your tongue. When he finally releases you, he whispers, "Wait and watch," before moving away and nodding to the other men...who all finish stripping.

Heat flares between your legs, and you squirm slightly where you stand as all four men shed their respective clothes. You drink in everything you can about their bodies. Mycroft's is the most familiar from his pale skin to the ginger hair leading down to his manhood. Greg and John both have muscle from being in the field, though you make a mental note that you want to trace John's scar with your tongue at some point; both are fairly tan and fit, John with blonde hair and Greg with both silver and dark brown. Sherlock looks like a marble sculpture, all lines and planes and angles; he's covered in wiry muscle, and... well... his cock...

You spend more time on each of their respective penises, using what techniques you've learned from Mycroft to observe them (and all four are hard already; clearly the snogging really got them going). Sherlock's is like him, long and slightly curved and can definitely reach deeper into you, just like his gaze. John's is a bit shorter than Sherlock but it's _thick_ and veined, eager to please and saluting like a soldier. Greg's is a medium length, thick and twitching, also slightly curved, and Mycroft's...you know his well by now where it's nestled in ginger hair.

Once they're all naked and looking mighty damn fine, they converge on you, their hands working slowly together to divest you of your clothes. In seconds you're naked, and then their mouths are worshipping your body, Mycroft taking charge of your lips while Sherlock works his way down your back, John to one side and Greg to the other. Your boyfriend is holding you up as your legs start to give, and when you feel someone's tongue running down the cleft of your arse, you gasp, keening and squirming in the embrace of the four men.

"H-how do you w-want to do this?" you ask Mycroft.

"I rather like the current situation," you hear Sherlock reply.

"Can we lay her down? Or take turns? We shouldn't make Mycroft hold her up the whole time." John.

"I dunno. I think we could have fun if Myc just holds her up and we have our way with her." Greg, and that suggestion nearly makes you faint.

All four men notice.

"Greg, I think she liked that one."

"Well then, Myc, hold her up by her arms. Sherlock, steady her hips and John, hold her legs open." If the DI keeps talking like this, you won't last much longer. The others move to obey, six pairs of hands holding you up and open as you watch wide eyed as Greg leans in, pressing his face to your sex. His eyes glance up to meet yours, and they are alight with wicked fire as he places his hands on your thighs and holds you still, kissing and licking at you.

You moan loudly before clamping your mouth shut and glancing up to Mycroft; he smirks down at you. " _Very_ good. This club is known for its emphasis on silence, but we do so want to hear you... so aren't you just so _very_ lucky that my office is sound-proofed."

Whatever you're about to say is lost as you whimper Greg's name, his tongue and teeth teasing your clit while he hums gently, sending the vibrations of his voice through your entire body. Lost in his touch, you barely notice Sherlock's mouth sucking and licking between your shoulder blades or John's lips kissing your leg or Mycroft popping your fingers into his mouth. When Greg slips two fingers into you, his resulting groan makes you tremble. Within seconds he has you on edge and shaking, but just like Mycroft, he keeps you balanced on the edge of release until, unable to bear it any longer, you plead with him. "L-let me come... oh dear God, Greg, _please_..."

"As you wish," he growls, changing the pressure of his mouth and the angle of his fingers and you're awareness narrows completely to him, and you cry his name, straining against the grip of the other three. You sag in their arms as Greg kisses his way up to your lips, the combined taste of the two of you sharp and intoxicating. "Ever so responsive... I can see why Myc likes you so much."

You nod, fighting to bring your breathing back under control and made all the more difficult as the DI  takes one of your nipples in your mouth and sucks, rolling the other between his fingers slicked with your juices until both of them are sore and hard as pebbles.

Your awareness manages to break through your breathy whimpers of his name to notice what the other three are doing, where their mouths are, and your ability to form words deteriorates swiftly, their names all running together. The detective's hands are exploring your sides now, and you squirm as he brushes over a particularly sensitive spot.

All four of them stop and look up; you can _feel_ the smug look radiating from Sherlock's face. "Gentleman... I do believe she's ticklish."

"N-no..."

Smirks and grins are exchanged as Mycroft's grip on your wrists and John's on your ankles tighten and Sherlock's fingers begin to dance along your ribs, Greg's on your knees. You squeak and giggle and gasp for breath, writhing and twisting as they torture you with sweet touches. Mycroft returns to sucking your fingers, and you hear John begin to murmur your name.

This continues until you lose all semblance of time and how to breathe, so when Mycroft scoops you up into his arms, you're a quivering puddle of a girl. He sets you down on a mattress off to the side that you missed when you walked in the first time. You sink back into it, sighing pleasantly although you don't like the lack of touch after the overload of sensation of all four men, but your reprieve doesn't last long.

They've left you long enough that they can pull out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube before dragging the mattress with you on it to the middle of the room and standing around, all of them stroking themselves as they look down, appreciating you.

"Now then," Sherlock starts, "Shall we?"

"How do you want to do this now, Mycroft" John.

"Should we overwhelm or go slowly?" Greg.

"I do believe we all want a chance to sample her heat." Mycroft.

"And you all know we could all take her together if we wanted to." Sherlock.

"Well, now we're all back where we started, aren't we?" Greg.

"Um... you could ask me what I want."

They all look back to you, clearly curious.

Blushing furiously, "Well, I'd rather like it if John went first... and Sherlock kissed me," you say quietly.

Both men's expressions darken and intensify as John steals a very passionate kiss before rolling on a condom and straddling you, grinding against your sex as Sherlock kneels by your head, his long, pale fingers stroking your face. He watches John who nods once and enters you at the same time Sherlock takes your mouth. You keen as John fills you, stretching you wonderfully and kissing your breasts as he starts to thrust, rolling his hips. Sherlock's tongue is doing indescribable things to your mouth and you reach out, managing to touch Greg and Mycroft's legs. The men take your hands, pressing kisses to your palms and wrists.

When Sherlock releases your mouth, John nudges the man out of the way and kisses you himself, sucking hard on your tongue as a particularly rough snap of his hips pushes you to the edge. You whine, trying to ask for release, but the doctor isn't having it. He pulls out until just the head is in you, rocking quickly as you screw your eyes shut in pleasure and frustration. "JOHN!" you yell, "QUIT TEASING!"

You open your eyes long enough to see his go nearly black. Snarling, he seizes some of the skin of your neck in his mouth and sucks hard as he drives into you, bringing you to climax right as Sherlock kisses you again; your scream of pleasure is lost in the consulting detective's mouth. Extremely sensitive, you squeak and whimper as John continues to take you, going hard until he falls over the edge after you, coming hard into the condom. You gently tug your hands away from Greg and Mycroft to run your hands through the doctor's sweat damp hair. He hums in pleasure, gently kissing and licking the bruise on your neck that he left as he slips out, collapsing on the Oriental rug.

You can feel your sweat mingled with John's drying on your skin as your vision returns enough to make out the three men still hard and admiring you. "Now then, luv," Greg murmurs in your ear, and you shiver at his voice, your sex pulsing, "I plan to take you, and your boyfriend here is going to work on your pretty little arse while Sherlock and John here talk to you. All right?"

You didn't realize it was possible to have saliva flood your mouth at the same time that it goes completely dry, but Gregory Lestrade manages to make it happen to you. He lifts you as he takes his place on the mattress, settling your legs on either side of him. Mycroft's hands join his and both men lift you onto the DI's cock. He's a fairly snug fit, a bit longer than John (not something you've ever had the chance to observe before), and he clutches you to him, rocking upwards extremely slowly as Mycroft's mouth goes to your arse, his tongue trailing down your cleft and pressing slowly into your hole, making you gasp sharply. He fucks you open with his tongue for a few minutes, the only other sounds Greg's soft grunts as he thrusts into you and your squeaks and moans and whimpers. Your boyfriend finally replaces his tongue with lube-slick fingers, stretching you open.

A few more completely torturous moments later, Mycroft withdraws his fingers while he slicks himself up; you _hear_ him moan before you feel him press against your loosened entrance and ever so gently ease himself in. Greg hisses and helps hold you still to keep you from getting hurt until your boyfriend, the British Government, is completely inside you.

Both men work to coordinate until they have the desired rhythm going, and you're vaguely aware of John and Sherlock taking their places on either side of your head. Their mouths are close enough that you can feel them exhaling on your ears.

"I can only imagine how tight you are, how hot you are... you would welcome me without question, inviting me deeper and deeper as the other watched... it gets you hot doesn't it, knowing that we can see you, can hear every little sound you make, knowing that we all want you... now if you were mine... you'd be the ultimate experiment... how many positions could you take... how many times could you come for me... what makes you whimper... or moan... or _scream_..."

"God you're gorgeous like this, both of them inside you... they're friends, you know... and Mycroft's been bragging about how amazing you are for weeks now... we've all been dying to join in the fun. When he said he was bringing you and that you'd say yes... well... we dropped everything... Sherlock even stopped experimenting... you taste divine and feel like heaven... I would take you every chance I could, and I've traveled, got myself a few nicknames... learned a few tricks that could have you begging for me...I want you so bad that I'm getting hard again thinking about it..."

You've never appreciated the male voice more than at this precise moment, and when Sherlock moves and nudges his cock against your lips, you eagerly open your mouth and swallow him in, humming as he pets your head and threads his fingers through your hair, falling into the rhythm the other men have set.

John's tongue is tracing the shell of your ear on one side, but now Greg has shifted to be able to talk in your free ear "That's a good girl...can take three, but...heard John say he was gettin'... hard for you... be a luv and help him out..." He guides your hand to the doctor who helps you find his arousal; you grip him and absently stroke, focusing more on him and on sucking on Sherlock for a second, but then Greg starts talking again.

"Ohhhhh, even better... you're so _tight_ with... both of us... we're all smitten with you... been dreaming about you... for weeks now... all my fantasies... every night... imagine my hand is your mouth... or your sex... darling... luv... won't you come for us?"

You can't think or breathe or feel, and Sherlock's length muffles your scream of pure ecstasy as you come not once, but twice in rapid succession, clenching your pulsing and aching sex around Greg and your arse around Mycroft, sucking on Sherlock as your breath sobs in your throat. All three men lose control, thrusting wildly until they all come, Sherlock holding your head in place as you swallow him up, the policeman and your boyfriend stroking your sides and your flank as they slow to a standstill.

John's helping you out; he's laced your fingers with his and is stroking hard and fast, coming with a groan of your name a few seconds later, coating your combined hands with his release.

The three men in you all pull out and handle you tenderly, setting you down on the mattress and cleaning you up of all traces of the lovemaking and sex. Mycroft cracks open a bottle of red as Greg gets the glasses, Sherlock and John trading kisses with you. The four of them surround you, and you lean on them for support as you all toast to great fun, and you sincerely hope that Mycroft arranges this again.

After all, who wants to have that much fun only once?


	21. A Bit of Oral Stimulation- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's coming home from a long day at work and wants to try something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: She asked for Greg or John giving oral, and we decided to go with John because we wanted to see more with the cuddly doctor...and we figured he'd have such a /clever/ mouth.

You've been dating John Watson for about four months now. He's such a sweet man, so caring and gentle, but with the littlest bit of an edge to keep you on your toes., and he's amazing in bed, too. You recall the first time you made love with him

_...it was after a long, difficult day at work for you both, a good snog on the couch led to a frantic removing of clothes, touches igniting moans and gasps, lips placed on the weak spot on your neck that melted you into a begging heap. He led you to bed, and you took each other like animals, arched back and hands grabbing at his shoulders and sandy blonde hair, him growling into your skin as he worked inside you, both of you coming at the same time in earth-shattering waves..._

You squirm a little and blush at the memory. You check the clock; nearly time for him to come home. A minute ticks by, and you hear his familiar tread on the stairs and smile. He opens the door and grins fondly at you where you're curled up in his chair.

"I do believe that's mine," he says as he hangs up his coat, shutting the door behind him. You get up and cross the room, winding your arms around him.

"What, the chair? Or me?" you ask him, smirking. His eyes take on that gleam that you've come to know well, and you shiver slightly when he returns the embrace murmurs "Both" into your ear. He claims your mouth fiercely, and you arch into him. Things escalate quickly (as they always do), his hands on your breasts, yours tugging at his belt.

"Wait-" he gasps as you stop kissing long enough to take a breath, "-want to try something. Strip and sit in the chair." You raise your eyebrows but eagerly comply; the results are generally enjoyable when he says he wants to try something. You discard your clothes and make your way to the chair, John following close behind. You sit and he kneels in front of you on the floor. Now you're a little confused and apprehensive. He starts to spread your thighs apart, and you clamp them shut.

"What's the matter, luv?" he asks, a bit concerned. You're bright red, embarrassed.

"I... ah... no one's ever," you say, trailing off. He looks surprised for a moment, but grins and chuckles softly at you.

"Relax, darling. I promise you, you'll like it," he reassures you. You're incredulous, but you relax anyway, allowing him to continue (even if you do think it's a little dirty for him to put his mouth there), but when he starts placing quick kisses to the insides of your thighs, you start to forget about whatever was wrong with it. His hands gently but firmly keep your legs spread; you blush again as he eyes your womanhood appreciatively. He moves in closer and you jump as you feel his lips at the top of your cleft. He starts to lap at your wetness with his tongue, and you suddenly forget every reason _why_ you thought this was a bad idea. He moves his way down, pressing openmouthed kisses as he goes, then begins to retrace his steps back up, his tongue darting between your folds. You gasp and arch into John's mouth, winding your fingers into his sandy blonde hair. He's at your clit now, and he gives it special attention, drawing it between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. This makes you cry out and buck your hips, especially when he slides two fingers inside of you. You can feel him grinning against you as he twists and curls them just so, a gentle 'come hither' motion. In no time at all, you can feel yourself brought to the absolute edge. You know that when you come, you're going to come _hard_. He combines a kiss with a thrust of his fingers, and you're lost. You arch your back and keen his name, riding out your orgasm with your fingers nearly tugging his hair out.

Once you finally relax, he moves away and you nearly laugh; his face, from the tip of his nose to his chin, is coated in your wetness, and he looks somewhat ridiculous. He throws you a good-natured scowl and wipes himself off. Then he chuckles and leans in to kiss you, to which you eagerly respond. You can taste both him and yourself on his lips and tongue; the combination is a bit strange, but one that you could definitely get used to. You pull back and murmur a gentle "Thank you." He smiles and just kisses you again.

You keep John locked to your mouth as your hands start to journey downwards. You palm the bulge in his trousers, making him gasp. You purr into the kiss, pleased with what you've found; apparently, eating you out has turned him on something wicked. You break the kiss long enough to whisper into his ear. "Your turn, my love."

He gives a strangled noise and strips in less than thirty seconds. You relinquish the chair to him and slowly kneel, your mouth quirking into a smirk as you see his cock twitching in anticipation. Your breath ghosts over it, and he grips the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. You take the sensitive glans of it into your mouth and suckle gently, causing him to whimper, and ever so slowly, you sink down on his arousal until your nose is touching his belly and the tip of him is at the back of your throat. You swallow once, hearing him hiss and then his fingers are buried in your hair, guiding your head as you move up and down his length. You hum in pleasure as he tugs slightly, and he bucks upwards into your mouth as the vibration teases him. You pull up until just the tip is in your mouth again and suck hard. You flick your eyes upwards and see that he's close, a look of almost pained concentration on his face, sweat beading his brow in fine dots of water. You swallow him to the hilt again and brush your tongue against the underside of his length. That's all it takes before he shatters, pulsing and twitching inside your mouth as he groans your name, coating your throat with his release. You swallow all of what he gives and slowly withdraw, cleaning him as you go. When you release him fully, you give a very self-satisfied smirk.

"Bloody hell. I have the feeling that we need to do this on a regular basis," he breathes and you laugh. You stand and bend down, kissing him soundly. You quite agree. It never hurts to expand your boundaries.

After all, how do you know if you like it if you don't try it at least once?


	22. The Woman- Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never thought setting up an appointment with her would be quite like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by voxangelus who simply asked to see Irene Adler. I hope I don't disappoint!

When you come across her website the first time, you never expect anything to happen. You read her information and dismiss it as extravagant and unnecessary... but that night, you dream about her: _The Woman_. In fact, you dream about her for a solid week and wank in the shower more than you ever have in your life, worrying you'll run down the batteries in your vibrator or break it all together with all the action you are giving it. Finally, you throw caution to the winds and send her an e-mail to set up an appointment.

You hear back from her the next day, and that afternoon, there is a knock at the door to your flat.

Anxious, excited, nervous, you answer, revealing the gorgeous dominatrix in all her glory. Her hair and makeup are done to perfection, and she's giving you a coy smile that has your knees shaking. You invite her in with what you suddenly have left of your voice.

"Why, thank you ever so much," she simpers as she sways in, shedding her coat to reveal a sexy, skintight little black dress that hugs her curves and stops above her knees. Perching on the arm of your sofa, she tilts her head and eyes you as if trying to figure you out. "Now then... whatever shall we do first?"

oOoOo

Whatever you are expecting, it isn't this.

After managing to swallow some of your initial shock and embarrassment, you walk over and ask to kiss her. Within seconds, she has you melting under her lips, teasing and nipping and tugging with just enough force that you know who is in control while at the same time teaching you how much you like it rough (how had you not known that?) She soon has you pushed back against the wall of your flat and is sucking a spot on your neck, biting hard enough you can feel it; her teeth feel far better on your skin than they have any right to.

It takes some doing, but you manage to help steer everything into the bedroom where she has you stripped and bound to the posts of your bed in less than thirty seconds while she stands  there staring unabashedly. You can't help the blush that steals over your features as her eyes linger on your breasts and on your sex, already wet and dripping from the snog.

"Well then, I can see you like it rough, darling. Would you like a taste of how rough I can be?"

Your eyes widen, you force yourself to swallow, hating how needy you sound when you reply. "Y-yes, Miss Adler."

She grins like a cat with a mouse. "Ooo, very good, even know to call me by my name." Reaching into the side drawer by your bed, she pulls out your vibrator, looking it over. "Now, I brought a few of my own toys, but for the first time, it really makes sense to use one of yours, doesn't it?"

 **_First_ ** _time?!_

"Yes, first time. You can't have expected me to only want this once, not when you were so delightfully shy and hesitant in your e-mail." She's grinning with teeth now, pearly white against the blood red of her lipstick as she flicks your toy onto the lowest setting. She brings it to rest just above your sex; you can hear and see but can't feel it. A tiny whimper escapes your lips.

"What is it? Do you want this?" She holds up the vibrator in her hand almost carelessly.

You nod eagerly, almost forgetting to add, "Yes, Miss Adler."

"Aren't you an eager little thing." She presses the very tip of your toy to your clit, wiggling it ever so slightly. You gasp and moan, trying hard to rock into the pressure and the friction, but as soon as you do, she pulls away.

"Now, now, don't want you coming too soon." Then Irene sets your toy (still on) onto the bed and begins to strip, clearly putting on a show for you; the slow reveal of smooth, pale skin and skimpy black under things have you straining against your bonds. She slides her panties off and pulls the chair from the corner over to the foot of the bed, sitting down with her legs hooked over the arms, letting you get a good, long look at her sex.

To your utter astonishment, Irene picks up your vibrator and applies it to herself, stroking and teasing in circles, letting our sultry moans and whimpers that have you mewling with want. She's using _your_ toy when she probably has something far better suited for her needs, but _your_ toy is giving her pleasure at the moment...and you desperately want it to be your hands and fingers and tongue, but she clearly wants you to look and not touch.

"P-p-please... Miss Adler...  _please_ touch me..."

She stops, pulling a finger out of her mouth where she'd been sucking on it. She smiles at you. "Since you asked so nicely..." Leaning forward, she strokes your folds with her wet finger, teasing them open and slipping the digit inside. She pumps and curls it, adding the vibrator now slick with her juices to your clit.

You're on edge in seconds, body trembling and aching, but she won't let you release.

"Such a pliant little thing... do you want to come, darling?"

"Yes... Miss Adler... let me... come...  _please_..."

You manage to open your eyes long enough to meet her gaze as it burns into you. She ramps up the setting on your toy without a word and adds two more fingers to you, and you come with a scream, twisting against the ropes, realizing that she hasn't let up, and in less than five minutes has you coming again.

As you sag into the bed and gasp for air, she sits back in her chair and finishes herself off, the fingers that were in you now in her and your vibrator back against her clit; when she comes, your name is on her lips. After she comes down from her climax, she opens her eyes and smiles at you, standing and dressing before untying you and pressing a swift kiss to your lips.

"Next time I might let you do that."

Without another word, she's gone.


	23. The Doctor Dances- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dating him for a few weeks, you finally invite John over to your flat for dinner...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a combination of 2 requests that I felt fit together perfectly.
> 
> Requested by consulting-fuckface: More John/reader, like really sweet stuff, because damn, doctor.
> 
> Requested by Ally: We all know John has a reputation. I'd love to see him being totally charming, seductive AND sweet, and coaxing someone who is a bit shy and self-conscious, who doesn't understand why he'd be attracted to her.

When your friend set you up on a blind date, you never expected the man to actually be a nice guy. Granted you've been set up before, but all the men were toads or lecherous or too old or far too young, but Doctor John Watson is...  _perfect_.

There's no other word for it. The man is perfect. His short, sandy blonde hair is incredibly soft, and even though you know he's been to war, his face is kind and expression good-natured, not hard and cold and unfeeling as those you've seen return from the service. He dresses comfortably but well, and even under the jumpers, you can tell he's still fairly fit and in shape. His blue eyes sparkle with charm and joy when he talks to you, and you make him laugh.

He knows how to have you blushing in seconds or giggling like crazy or how to get you talking passionately on any topic you love. He doesn't tune you out, he's always interested, and he's rather charming. He walks you back to your flat that first night, your hands and shoulders brushing against each other as you walk. When you reach the door, you turn to say goodnight. He smiles good naturedly and leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, slipping something into your hand. A wink and a smile and he's gone, leaving you slightly breathless on your doorstep. You open the note, heart in your throat.

_Here's my number. You're certainly something else, and I really hope I'll get to see you again, beautiful. -JW_

oOoOo

Two weeks later, you have gone out on several dates with him to the cinema, walking in the park, on picnics, he even went with you to the library. _The library_ of all places. And every time he walks you back home, he kisses your cheek and slips you a note. You have no idea when he writes them, but all of them are safe in your side table drawer and you read them every night before you fall asleep.

oOoOo

Another week of this and you finally invite him over for dinner. He arrives promptly with a bottle of your favorite red wine, and you let him in, casting a furtive glance over your flat to make sure you haven't left anything embarrassing out like dirty knickers.

"It's very nice. Very you," he says, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. You blush and mumble something about how it isn't much, and he turns to you, questioning look replacing the smile. He takes your hands gently in his and kisses them.

"I like it. Don't you worry your pretty little head for a second that I'm having you on," he says seriously, making sure you believe him before he kisses your cheek... honestly, the fact that he has yet to kiss you on the lips is driving you quite mad.

"Shall we have dinner?"

oOoOo

Once you've served the pasta bake and had a few glasses of wine, you relax a bit, growing more comfortable with him in your space. Partway through the meal he takes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles as he eats. The gesture is endearing and helps put you even more at ease.

After dinner, he insists on helping clean up, despite your protests. "It won't be the first time I've cleaned a dirty dish or two." In the end, it's quite fun; he washes and you dry and put the items away, and he's saved you having to run the dishwasher. Taking his glass of wine, he heads into the sitting room; you find him perusing the shelves of books when you come through.

"You've read all of these?"

"Yeah. They're some of my absolute favorites, especially Tolkien."

He beams at you when you say that. "I grew up on them. Always fancied an adventure like Bilbo's."

"So did I!"

John gives you a broad, genuine smile that has your heart aflutter as he moves on to your iPod where it sits in the speaker system. "Mind if I browse your music?"

"No. go ahead."

He scrolls through for a few moments until he finds what he is looking for. The song starts and you recognize "Dear Prudence" by The Beatles. Setting down his glass, John turns to you and holds out his hand. "Care to dance?"

You set your own glass down and take his hand; John pulls you close, one hand resting on your waist, the other holding your own, and you place your free hand on his shoulder. He starts to sway with you, turning slowly on the spot as the music picks up.

_"Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play?_

_Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day?_

_The sun is up, the sky is blue,_

_It's beautiful and so are you_

_Dear Prudence...won't you come out to play?"_

He begins to sing along softly in your ear, his breath warm on your skin, his voice comforting, and you realize for the first time that he feels like home to you.

_"Dear Prudence open up your eyes._

_Dear Prudence, see the sunny skies._

_The wind is low, the birds will sing_

_That you are part of everything_

_Dear Prudence, won't you open up your eyes?"_

As the bridge starts, his other hand drops to your waist and he whispers "Hold on." Your now free hand lands on his shoulder, and he lifts you up, twirling you with the music. You throw your head back and laugh, giddy and breathless.

_"Look around_

_Round round round round round_

_Round round round round round_

_Look around round_

_Round round round round round_

_Round round round round round_

_Look around."_

John sets you down gently, singing the next bit as he looks you in the eye.

_"Dear Prudence, let me see you smile._

_Dear Prudence, like a little child._

_The clouds will be a daisy chain_

_So let me see you smile again_

_Dear Prudence, won't you let me see you smile?_

Blushing, you give him a smile, leaning against his chest and listening to his heartbeat and the rumble of his voice as he finishes singing to you.

_"Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day?_

_The sun is up, the sky is blue,_

_It's beautiful and so are you_

_Dear Prudence...won't you come out to play?"_

The iPod skips to something soft and instrumental that you recognize (Beethoven's "Pathetique"), and you feel John hold you just a little closer as his breathing comes back down to normal. His hands wander up your back, rubbing and stroking gently. "You are _so_ beautiful," he murmurs into your neck.

"I'm really not."

He stops moving and tilts your chin up so he can look you in the eye. "Now you listen to me. I don't ever say things like that when I don't mean them. You _are_ beautiful and smart and talented and all of the things I've come to really like about you, the way you blush or giggle when I say something, your smile... I could go on and on about your smile. Why do you think I chose that song? It reminds me of you."

"Then, if you like me so much... why haven't you kissed me properly yet?" you ask softly, looking away.

He murmurs your name and you look back at him. "Because I was waiting for you to hear me when I say you're beautiful."

Your eyes meet his blue ones, and you can see the depth of how much he cares written as clear as day, and, taking your face ever so gently in his hands, John leans in and kisses you softly on the lips.

After waiting for three weeks for this, you feel you may explode now that it's finally happening. His mouth is warm and tasted faintly of wine and dinner, and his fingers are rubbing circles on the skin of your face as you wind your own arms around his neck; your tongue hesitantly darts out to brush the seam of his lips, and then everything does explode.

John inhales sharply at the contact and kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him and easing his own tongue between your teeth and into your mouth and...  _oh god_ everything starts to go blurry around the edges when you forget to breathe. He's amazing at this, finding all of the right places in your mouth, the most sensitive spots making you moan and clutch him closer. Your hands find their way to his hair, and you hold on tight, trying to get as close as you can.

He breaks the kiss first, breathing heavily as he stares into your eyes. You see how much his pupils have dilated and know what he wants... because you want it too. He smiles slightly, that almost cocky grin the makes your heart do a somersault.

"Now then, beautiful, I would like very much to take you to bed and have my way with you. It think I've made you wait long enough."

The only response you manage is a small gasp as he sweeps you off to your own bedroom, closing the door before pressing you against it and kissing you soundly. You nudge him toward the bed, but he chuckles and presses gentle brushes of lips to your throat.

"Oh no, beautiful," he growls, starting to suck at the tender skin beneath his mouth. " _I'll_ be taking you to bed tonight, not the other way 'round."

You moan his name and whimper as he takes his time on your neck, and only when you are boneless and quivering in his arms does he lead you to the bed and lay you down on it.

"Condoms are... in the... side table," you pant, sinking back into the duvet.

He reaches over, opens the drawer, and stops, pulling out a few slips of paper. "Are these my notes?"

"Hmm?" You glance over and remember where you keep the notes he's given you, and you scramble up, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "They are... I... I read them every night," you mumble.

His fingertips dance over your cheekbone until you glance at him, stunned at the tender expression found there.

"It's really sweet," he says, smiling at you. His other hand fishes a few condoms and your lube and (oh gods above) your vibrator from the drawer. "Do you keep all your toys so close to your side of the bed?" he teases.

Speechless, you open and close your mouth a few times, words refusing to appear; you do manage to nod as a wicked grin crosses his face. "Well then, I imagine we'll be able to have quite a bit of fun, don't you?"

You've never seen this side of John before. He' always been so kind and sweet and thoughtful, but now he's looking almost predatory, slowly looking you up and down like he wants to devour you (which he very well might before the night is out).

John begins kissing you again, his fingers undoing the buttons on your blouse and opening up the fabric so he can see your chest. You sit up to help him pull the item of clothing off, and in less time than it takes you to blink, he's undone the catches on your bra. The straps fall away, and you reflexively cross your arms as he drops your blouse and bra on the floor. When he turns back to you, he gives you this look. "I want to _see_ you, beautiful. You don't have to be so shy."

With his help, you uncross your arms, and he drops his mouth to your breasts, kissing and licking and sucking at the flesh, paying special attention to your nipples until they are hard and aching and you are twitching and panting his name.

"Jeans and knickers next, my dear."

You help him get the rest of your clothes off, feeling more self-conscious since he is still dressed, but as he pulls off your pants, he rises from the bed and begins to strip: jumper, shirt, jeans until he's standing before you in his pants, the bulge made even more obvious now that it's not as restricted. John chuckles when he notices you staring.

"Like what you see?"

He doesn't give you time to respond as he drops the last article of clothing and you see his cock, firm and thick and definitely hard for you. He takes a condom from the small pile on the side table and rolls it on, climbing back onto the bed and straddling you. You stare up at him, seeing traces of the gentle man hidden behind this confidence and lust. John gathers your wrists in his hands and places them firmly to either side of your head, trapping them against your pillows.

"I think we'll get to the toys later... but if I don't take you soon... I think I may very well burst."

His tip is rubbing against your folds, and you whimper, straining against his hold as you try to take more. A flash of his best smile crosses his face before he leans down and kisses you, shaping your mouth against his lips as he enters you.

It's been a ridiculously long time since the last time you've slept with anyone, and he feels amazing inside you. "Oh dear Christ, you're _tight_ ," he groans, settling for a moment before rolling his hips once, adjusting to your feel. You whisper his name and kiss him again; now that his lips have finally touched yours, you just can't get enough. Trading caresses and breaths, John begins to really move, driving you to utter distraction.

It seems like he is everywhere at once, both inside and out. His name becomes a mantra you chant with every thrust, regardless of whether or not he is kissing you. He finally seems to grow tired or dragging it out (or maybe he just can't wait a second longer), his grip tightens on your wrists, and he drives you into the bed, thrusting with surprising strength. You come a few minutes later screaming his name and sobbing in pleasure. He sets his mouth to your neck, and you come again, hardly able to breathe when he comes, growling your name against damp skin.

You're barely aware of him withdrawing from you and taking care of the condom and of cleaning up before he gathers you in his arms, rocking you gently and kissing the top of your head.

"Stay with me tonight," you whisper, relaxing as his heartbeat thumps in your ear.

"I will stay as long as you want me to," John replies.

You wake in his arms the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, and the LOTR stuff? It's really impossible to resist now, and I just picture John being such a Ringer as a child.


	24. Becoming His Pet- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you bear witness to a murder, you never expected the murderer to then take you home with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fassy: maybe you could do one in which he takes a would be victim (or maybe he finds someone witnessing his crimes?) and eases her into being his sub!)

You're wandering in an abandoned building for a photography class when you hear it: a cry, brief and loud, and horrifically cut short. You rush to the source of the noise and see a slightly-built man in an impeccable dark suit leaning over the body of another man. You'd try to be optimistic and say that he was helping him, but the bloody switchblade in his leather-gloved hand is anything but helpful... well, helpful in the sense that it assisted the man now laying face-down in a pool of his own blood into the realm of the dead. You stand stock-still as dark eyes flash up and catch yours. You're frozen to the spot, the sparrow trapped in the gaze of a snake.

"You saw," he says, and he has the most beautiful, soft Irish lilt that you've ever heard, very out of place with his cold, hard eyes and the bloody knife still in hand. You nod; you can't help it. He flashes a tight, brittle smile. "Such a pity... you need to be taken care of."

You nearly faint. You don't want to die, you've barely lived in the first place. You close your eyes and whimper, and when you open them again, he's directly in front of you, regarding you. Once more, you're frozen, barely even breathing.

"Hmmm... not 'taken care of' like him. Stupid girl. I'm in need of a new _pet_. And since you've seen me being naughty... well, I guess a little more won't hurt, now will it?" he drawls, and you can't help but feel exhilarated as well as apprehensive.

"I'm going to blindfold and gag you now, little pet," says the man, and you take a step backwards, panic welling in your throat. He frowns and you stop again. "Now now, pet, none of that. Oh, and I suppose you should know your new Master's name. Jim. Jim Moriarty. Hiiiii," he says, smirking.

Your blood runs cold. You've heard of him...the 'consulting criminal'. He walks closer and fishes out a handkerchief from one pocket and binds your eyes, the finely-woven cloth making you blind. With another, he gags you. You can feel him tugging on your shirt as he leads you away to an elevator, down a flight of stairs and into the back of a car. Your blindfold stays on, but you can feel the heat of the man beside you, can feel the intensity of his gaze even if you can't see it. He presses a soft kiss to your neck and you start. You hear him chuckle.

"Oooh, my little pet... if you're jumpy just from that, then just you _wait_ for what's in store for you at home."

After about twenty minutes or so, the car stops and Jim leads you out. Up some more stairs and another elevator, then through a door and into a wide space. It smells like him, you note absently. He leads you into another room, a plusher one, you can figure, as near as you can with the blindfold still intact. You start as you feel ropes being wound around your wrists. He has you lift your arms, and you feel the rope catch on something; they're held fast. A hook. You're bound by your wrists, dangling from a hook. You whimper; at least you're still fully clothed. A soft -snickt- makes you despair, especially as you feel your clothes being cut away.

"Won't need these in here," Jim says as he shreds your garments. Soon, you're bare before him. You can hear him make an appreciative noise as he admires your naked body. You gasp as warm flesh makes contact with the skin of your torso; he's removed the gloves. His hands go up to cup your breasts and fondle your nipples, teasing them into an erect hardness that makes you shiver and moan.

"Oh so eager to please...  _excellent_ ," he breathes into your ear, which makes your knees go weak. Luckily, the ropes catch you as you feel his hands trailing down farther and farther, until they're cupping your sex. He gently eases one finger inside. You can practically hear him smirk.

"My my...so _eager_. I've barely even touched you and you're soaked. Is this turning you on, pet? The fact that you're the plaything of the world's most dangerous man?" he purrs. You don't say anything, and the next thing you feel is his teeth in your skin,  a swift, hard bite.

"I asked you a _question_. You are to answer your Master. Is that understood?" he growls. You cry out and nod. "Good. Now, answer my _question_."

"Y-yes... yes Master," you stammer, the words foreign but somehow so right on your tongue. He chuckles.

"Well done. She _can_ be taught."

He adds a second, then a third finger into you and you cry out and buck against his hand. His mouth never leaves your skin, biting, sucking and kissing his way along the line of your collarbones. He moves downward, his lips on your breasts now, biting and teasing the nipples. You squeak and shudder and gasp, even as his fingers are still pumping into you. He works you up to the edge and then removes his fingers; you whine in frustration, which makes him chuckle. He mouths the skin above your left breast.

"Oh, little girl... I will _burn_ the _heart_ out of you," he murmurs into your overheated flesh. You can't help but moan; even though this is one of the most threatening sentences you've ever heard, you're too turned on to care. You purr, and he runs his hands down your skin, cupping the rounds of your arse. He pulls away for a moment, and you hear the soft rasp of a zip being lowered and then the sharp crinkle of a condom in its foil wrapper. Your mouth waters as you have an idea what's to come.

You gasp sharply as you feel the tip of him dragging along your folds, the head of him pushing just slightly into you before withdrawing to tease and stroke. You're more than frustrated now. You want to come, for him to fill you, _anything_.

"Please, Master...  _please_ ," you beg.

"Please _what_ , my pet?" he asks. You whimper again as he slides along you.

"Please... please fuck me," you say, your voice breaking. He rumbles something that's a combination of a growl and a moan.

"I guess. You've been waiting long enough, after all," he says, and with that, he sheaths himself inside you all the way. "Wrap your legs around me, pet. Let me feel exactly how _much_ you want me to fuck you," he pants into your ear. Your knees go weak, but you comply, linking your ankles at the small of his back. He withdraws slowly, then snaps his hips forwards. You keen as he bottoms out, and clench around him. He hisses through his teeth as you throw your head back, breathless.

"Ooh, yessss, pet. Daddy _likes_ that. Do it again." You have no other choice but to comply, and you do so. He groans this time, his hands clutching your arse as he shows no mercy, no gentleness. He pounds into you, fast, rough and hard. You gasp and moan and scream as his cock hits that one place inside of you that causes you to nearly come. Jim mouths along your shoulder again, much less punishing; after all that you've seen of his domineering side this gentleness is unexpected.

You come with a cry of his name on your lips. He thrusts once, twice, three more times before he joins you over the edge, snarling and spitting. When you both are somewhat back to normal, he unhooks your ropes from the hook in the ceiling and undoes the knots, being surprisingly tender as he massages the blood back into your hands and wrists.

"If you thought that wasn't so bad, pet... then you have much to look forward to," he promises in your ear. You gulp and nod. Pet indeed.


	25. The Party- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the party where your fiance is introducing you to his family and peers, his younger brother happens to catch your eye...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this one was requested by my co-writer, ladycorvidae: Narrator is Mycroft's intended and Sherlock is /jealous/ because he wants her for himself.

You've been engaged to Mycroft Holmes for two months now, and every day you wake up and stare at the ring he's given you and wonder how such a simple girl could wind up promised to someone so rich and powerful and clever. You were convinced there would be some sort of scandal surrounding his courtship of you, being a middle class girl as you are, but his position in the British Government seems to allow him to marry as he chooses... and he's chosen you.

The dress for the party arrives that afternoon: deep blue brocade with gold trim and gold shoes, a dress certainly befitting a lady. Your mother helps you dress and do your hair, using what little make up she has to pretty your face, and by the time the two of you have finished, you look a proper lady to marry the man.

Mycroft is presenting you to society and to his family tonight, and the carriage arrives promptly at six to bring you to the Holmes Manor House. You're nervous, and your heart is beating in your throat as you wave good-bye to your parents where they stand at the front door watching you go.

oOoOo

Your arrival is announced when you enter the front doors, and Mycroft glides over to your side, pressing a very chaste kiss to your cheek (you are in public after all). He looks more than dashing in his black suit and waistcoat, his ginger hair combed and styled to perfection. His hand settles at the small of your back as he guides you to two people standing by the foot of the stairs. "May I introduce Lady Holmes, my mother, and Sherlock, my younger brother."

Lady Holmes is charming, her gray hair piled elegantly atop her head and a simple silver dress with beaded trim making her look like a wonderful antique, breakable but with quite a story to tell. You curtsey and introduce yourself, and she smiles.

"Mycroft has spoken of nothing and no one else for months, my dear. You should be very proud to have captured his affections."

"Dull."

Her head snaps to her younger son. "I'll have no lip from you tonight, young man. This is your brother's evening."

"Oh yes, precious _Mycroft_."

You turn to look at the younger Holmes... and your heart nearly stops.

He's even more breathtakingly handsome than your fiancé, dark brown curls in an unruly mop on his head, his tall, slim, angular body sheathed in a black suit like his brother's but with a dash of red for the buttons of his vest. He's pale and his eyes... it takes a great deal of courage to not shy away from his gaze which seems to be looking straight into your soul. You can't name the color as you've never seen it before, though it appears to be a combination of ice blue and verdigris with tiny flecks of gold. It's not until Mycroft clears his throat that you realize you've been staring; you blush and look to your shoes, murmuring your apologies.

You feel the glare Mycroft gives his brother before excusing you both and leading you out into the throng of people invited to the event. You curtsy and give your thanks at the compliments showered upon you by his friends and colleagues, all of them clearly enchanted by your appearance and beauty. You don't think you look like much, but even Mycroft whispers to stop that thinking and to have a glass of champagne.

He leads the room in a toast to you, 'the charming, marvelous woman who has brought me everything I could have ever asked for,' and his words make you want to disappear from embarrassment. You're just a simple working class girl with rough hands and barely enough balance to walk across the marble floor without falling on your face. Excusing yourself to use the powder room, ("No really, I'm fine, I just need a moment,") you wander down a corridor away from the noise and sound, leaning against a wall once you're out of sight and fighting back tears.

_You can't do this. This marvelous creature that everyone sees isn't you._

"You're right. It isn't you."

You jump, covering your mouth to muffle the squeak of fear and surprise as you see Sherlock standing there, looking down at you.

"I wasn't aware I was speaking out loud. How did you-"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your body language and the fact that you just excused yourself from a party thrown in your honor make it simple to draw the conclusion that it's all a bit too much for you. That and the fact that I've never seen a girl less sure of her footsteps would indicate you're rather naturally clumsy as well, prone to knocking things over, and you're terrified of breaking something." He tilts his head slightly, looking at something else on your face. "He's barely even kissed you... being a right 'proper gentleman' is he? Waiting until the wedding night?"

Your eyes dry as indignation replaces fear. "You-I-that's none of your business!" you splutter, blushing a fierce shade of red.

Sherlock pushes off of the wall opposite you and comes to stand right in your personal space, barely inches from your body; you can feel yourself start to tremble at his proximity. "S-stay back... I'll scream..."

The younger Holmes chuckles softly. "I've had to put up with my brother's ramblings about all of your perfections for months and months, but it wasn't until I saw you out there that I realized exactly what is going on in my head and has been for a long time." He leans in, his lips almost brushing your ear. "I want you for myself... and I don't ever share."

Your eyes widen and your mouth goes completely dry. "Y-you _what_?!"

"Don't make me repeat myself. It's extremely tedious. And don't think I missed you staring before. My dear, you are meant for a Holmes, but the man you should be with is not my brother."

"I'd never met you before tonight. How can you be so sure of yourself?"

"Because I am never wrong."

"Now that's just cocky. Is your ego as big as your attitude?"

"Would you like to find out?"

Scandalized, you place your hands on his chest and shove, trying to ignore the blush staining your cheeks. "You- you are no gentleman, sir!"

"Neither are you a lady. So, are you going to let me have my way with you under my brother's nose then?"

"I may not be a lady, but I have standards and-and morals! It's not right, not proper to have...  _relations_ with another man until marriage, especially if it's not with the man I'm to marry!"

"Ah, that's the morals and religion of your upbringing talking. Stop thinking with your head for two seconds and think with your body. Stop denying your desires and open your mind for once in your life. If you don't take a chance to live now, I can guarantee you never will. Plus, I'm a better shag than my brother can ever hope to be."

You're torn. Everything in you says to stay true to your fiancé, and the ring on your finger has never felt heavier, but here is this man, his _brother_ of all people, wanting you and impatient enough to speak his mind and not drag it on for seven months (although Mycroft's courtship was endearing in its own way). You have the nagging feeling that if it had been Sherlock who had pulled you out of the way of the cab, you'd be married to the man already...well, that is if he'd found you interesting.

"I've never been more intrigued by another human being in my life. You are truly something else."

There he goes again with that annoying ability to almost read your mind. "Then... then prove it."

He doesn't blink or hesitate; Sherlock simply sweeps you into an embrace (hands at the back of your head and the base of your spine) and kisses you hard. Your eyes roll back in your head and you moan into his mouth as his clever tongue sneaks past your lips. Mycroft has always kissed you very chastely, but his brother has claimed your mouth for his own, molding your body against his as he takes exactly what he wants... and he clearly knows how to get it.

When you break apart for air, you can see that the fascinating color has been pressed to the rim of his eyes, the pupils dilated in... you swallow. You can feel his desire pressing against you. There's no time to think. This is about acting. "We need... a cupboard."

He drags you a little ways further down the corridor and throws open a door, ushering you inside. As soon as he closes you both in, the place is pitch black; it's as if you've been blindfolded, but that doesn't deter Sherlock. Instead, he devotes himself to exploring your body with his mouth and fingers, working quickly to get you out of your dress. He sets it to the side and pulls you against him once more.

Your fingers fumble with his buttons, and he abandons kissing your mouth to get undressed, shedding what is necessary before pulling off your shift and tugging down your bloomers. His mouth unerringly finds your bosom as he worships the flesh with his tongue. He pays special attention to your nipples, sucking them into hardness you didn't think was possible. He pulls you against his hips and...  _well then._

You reach down and trace the hardened flesh between his legs, learning the shape and texture with your fingers, whimpering when his join yours and then trail over your parts. He finds a very tender spot and works it with his fingers until your knees will barely support your body. Only then does he recapture your mouth and press into you, hiking your legs up around his waist and rolling his hips. You grasp his head in your hands as you kiss him, blocking out everything else except his feel and taste. It hurts at first; you've never had anything in you like this before, and, well there's no other way to describe it, he's got a very big thing sticking up in you, but once he starts to move and he continues to melt your mouth with his tongue, the pain vanishes and waves of tingling pleasure roll through your body.

His hands roam lower to grasp your arse, rocking your hips in time with his thrusts and keeping you from falling. It doesn't last too long, but soon the pleasure is too much and you feel yourself losing control until you cry his name and your body spasms, clenching around him. The next thing you know, he's growling your name and coming in you, filling you with his release before sagging against the wall.

It takes a few minutes before either of you can move, and he helps sit you down as he dresses himself again and then dresses you; you absently wonder if he can see in the dark. "Now what?" you ask, your voice slightly hoarse. You can't return to the party for Mycroft will certainly know.

"Leave with me. Leave the titles and names and ring and everything behind and run away with me. I can promise you adventure and danger and more enjoyment than anyone else in your life."

Reaching for him, you pull Sherlock Holmes close and kiss him soundly. "Lead on."


	26. After the Trial- Jim and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're cleaning up after the trial and come across Jim and Sherlock with unexpected results...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by consulting-fuckface: Sherlock/Moriarty/reader, somehow. Well, this is certainly somehow.

You've just carried the untouched tray of tea and biscuits from the jury's room; everyone has left, the results of the trial replaying over and over in your mind.

_Not guilty... not guilty... not guilty..._

It frightens you no end. One look at the man known as Moriarty and you get the shivers; you've always had a bit of intuition, and it's never wrong. So when you round the corner and see not only the world's most dangerous criminal but also the world's only consulting detective, you're so startled that you drop the tray.

The resulting crash covers your scream, but both men's heads snap around, regarding you with an almost indecent fire.

"I saw her first."

"Oh stuff it, Sherly. She's _mine_."

You squeak and bolt, but the both of them catch you before you've gone ten paces, pulling you into an empty room down the corridor and locking the door behind you. You whirl around and face them, trying to be defiant but shaking in your shoes. It's just your luck that you aren't on the first floor, but you edge your way to the window anyway.

"Oh, so boring. Everyone goes for the window first. At least have a little imagination."

Your eyes flicker back and forth between the men, Sherlock in black trousers, a black jacket, and a white shirt, Moriarty in the innocuous gray suit and pale tie.

"Fine then." You manage to keep the tremor from your voice. "So I just stay here and... what, you do what you want?"

"We aren't as heartless as that... well I'm not, but he is." Sherlock walks forward and holds out a hand. "I... apologize for our rough handling of you just now. It was... uncalled for."

"Oh quit lying, Holmes. You know you want her as bad as I do."

You glare at Jim as he saunters forward, both men crowding you against the wall. Sherlock traces a long, pale finger down your cheek. "Every day of the trial you caught my eye. So beautiful..."

"Are you trying to seduce her?"

"Will you silence yourself for two seconds?"

"Uh, let me think. _No_."

The detective shakes his head, turning back to you. "He's a bit insufferable, but I've seen him work. Aside from me, he's the best."

"I _am_ the best. There's no competition."

Tired of their bickering and intrigued in spite of yourself, you snap, "Then why don't you let _me_ be the judge of that?"

It's clear from the looks on their faces that you've managed to surprise them, and from what you've seen, you know that feat is nearly impossible; if they weren't interested before, they most certainly are now. Before Moriarty can move, Sherlock seizes your mouth, kissing you breathless, but it doesn't last nearly long enough. The criminal elbows Sherlock out of the way and yanks you in, nipping and biting your lip before sucking your tongue into his mouth, his hands tangling in your hair.

Sherlock is stripping you quickly around Jim until he can manage to shove the shorter man out of the way and drag you over to the table. He lifts you onto it, dropping his trousers and laying you back so your legs dangle over the edge. He's got a condom on already as he takes you hard, entering you in a single thrust. He drives you against the table, only drawing it out when he has you close to release, denying you until you beg for him, his name sobbing in your throat. With a final snap of his hips, you're both gone; he has your wrists pinned to the surface until you're done.

He's barely finished going soft when he goes flying, Jim having thrown him out of the way. The criminal drags you down to the floor, biting your neck and sucking the skin until you moan his name before stroking his tip along your entrance. His hands encircle your wrists and press you to the ground, making sure you're paying full attention when he slides into you.

Your back arches off the floor because he's going oh so slowly, rocking and rolling his hips like gentle ocean waves. His grip is deceptively strong, and while you struggle, you're unable to break it. It's not until you beg him, plead with him to go faster that he obliges, driving you to orgasm in less than a minute. You scream his name and clench around him, managing to pull his orgasm after yours.

Jim disentangles himself from you and stands, fixing his suit, and you sit up slowly, seeing that both of them are, once again, dressed.

"So, who was better?"


	27. The Darker Side- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You realize you're interested in Dom/Sub stuff, but how the hell do you find a Dom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Tania: More with Dom Mycroft

You don't know how you got yourself into this.

Wait, that's an absolute lie. Yes, you know _exactly_ how you got yourself into this. You started doing research into the Dom/Sub side of sex after your last boyfriend blindfolded and spanked you when you had sex, and you came so hard that you nearly couldn't walk for an hour. What you found in your initial foray was both intimidating and arousing. Ropes... clamps... gags... plugs... whatever the hell _those_ were... Some of the 'equipment' looked like some sort of torture device and, upon even further investigation, that's exactly what it was, repurposed, of course, for the darker edge of kink.

Still, these things didn't frighten you. If anything, they only served to make you squirm in your chair behind your computer desk. Your thoughts began to drift to other things, like how you'd go about finding a Dom, being on your knees, following orders, being brought to the brink and denied, being fucked without mercy...and loving every second of it.

You swallow hard. Really, how _does_ one find a Dom? An ad in the paper? No. Craigslist? Just as bad. Or worse. You sigh. You need to get out of your flat, clear your head, worry about it later.

You shrug on your coat and make your way to the streets outside. You walk along, minding your own thoughts, wandering somewhat aimlessly when you run smack into someone. You fall to the ground, bruising your knees and your pride. The other person...is absolutely gorgeous. He's tall, aloof, and looks about as ruffled as a glacier; his ginger hair is barely mussed from the collision, and he gives you a look of distaste and annoyance that both stings and makes you shiver.

"I'm so sorry," you say as you try to help him pick up his briefcase. He merely regards you then helps you stand. You brush the sidewalk detritus off of your jeans and bite your lip. His gaze is nearly uncomfortably direct; you feel like he's looking inside you, scanning you, analyzing you.

He suddenly leans in and murmurs into your ear in a voice that makes your knees weak. "I can give you what you're looking for. Follow me." You're so shocked that you barely register it when your feet move almost of their own accord. You follow him to a sleek black car, and he opens the door for you.

He introduces himself once you're both inside, and what he says gobsmacks you."Mycroft Holmes. I occupy a small position in the British government. And I, currently, am looking for a Sub, just as you are looking for a Dom. I can offer you proper training and fidelity. I expect obedience from you...  _absolute_ obedience. Does this seem like a good contract to you?"

You open your mouth and then shut it. How did he know? He gives a slight quirk of his lips that may be a smile. "Before you ask, I know because I'm... quite good at reading people." You frown. _'Quite good at reading people_ ' your arse... he's like a bloody psychic.

"Will you consider my offer?" he asks. You take a deep breath and look over Mycroft once more. He doesn't _look_ like he'd murder you for your liver or something worse. You feel that you can trust him, deep in your gut... and your intuition has _never_ been wrong.

"I accept." He grins.

"Excellent. Then please, allow me to escort you to my establishment. Your training should begin at once." You feel a shiver run up your spine. Mycroft Holmes is, apparently, a man who wastes no time.

oOoOo

The posh car takes you both to a breathtaking house in the suburbs of London. The place is breathtaking, a veritable mansion. You gawk at it in awe as you exit the car and walk into the exquisitely decorated parlor.

 

"Remind me to give you the full tour later." Mycroft's dry voice breaks through your marveling over the chandelier. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for fine decorating, but the room that you require is this way."

He gently but firmly takes your upper arm and guides you down the hall and up a flight of stairs. The room is at the end of another hallway, the door locked both manually and with an electronic keypad. He punches in the code, and you hear it unlock with a rather loud 'click'. The door opens and your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets; it's a playroom... devoted entirely to a Dom and his Sub. Hooks adorn the walls and ceiling, handcuffs with long chains are draped over pegs, an assortment of dildos and vibrators grace a stand to your left. There's a bed and a chair, as well as an interesting-looking contraption that reminds you of a porch swing somehow. The door closes behind you, and you start; you had nearly forgotten about Mycroft.

"Now, little one... let us begin," he says softly, a light coming into his originally cold blue eyes.

"Strip," he orders you. You swallow hard and begin. You shed your coat, toe off your shoes and socks, then remove your shirt and jeans, and soon you stand before him in your bra and knickers... he's not looking pleased.

"Clearly you need help listening. I said _strip_. That means _everything_ ," he says, his voice a bit short. You hurry to comply, then clench your hands into fists at your sides to keep from covering yourself self-consciously. His eyes travel your naked form slowly, almost laser-like in their intensity. He gives you an appreciative smirk, one eyebrow raised.

"I like what I see. Very good, pet," he says. You flush at the compliment which causes him to actually smile. He saunters over to you. "Today, seeing as you're just beginning, I'm going to be gentle. Don't get used to it, because it isn't going to last. I'm going to blindfold you and tie you to these hooks here," he murmurs, pointing to a set of sturdy-looking metal hooks screwed into the wall. "And after that... well, I won't tell you. Let you anticipate a bit," he says.

You can only nod in agreement. He gives you a pointed look and you go to stand by the hooks; he takes out some clothesline rope and attaches one end to one wrist and around a hook, then does the same to the other. Your arms are outstretched; you couldn't move them if you wanted to. You feel the first thrill of anticipation run up your spine. Mycroft goes and fetches a silk blindfold and secures it around your eyes. It's finely woven... and you can't see anything. That thrill of anticipation has swiftly turned into the slow burn of lust. You're completely at this man's mercy, and you _love_ it.

Having lost the use of your eyes, your other senses grow sharper. You can hear him slightly shifting, but no more than that. Suddenly, you can feel his mouth at your neck and you gasp and arch. He huffs a soft laugh into your skin.

"If you're this responsive and jumpy just for this..." he says, and your heartbeat revs. He's barely touched you and you already feel wetness between your thighs; this is going to be quite the lesson.

You track his movements by his lips on your skin: up your neck and along your jaw, then claiming your mouth in a kiss that would have made your knees buckle had you not been kept standing by the ropes around your wrists. He works his tongue into your mouth, stroking yours with his; he tastes of tea and maybe cake, but you can't be arsed to care. He breaks the kiss to work down your neck again, this time going farther to nip at your collarbone. You whimper and moan and he nips you a little harder.

His hands are at your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pressing against him. Mycroft moves down even farther, and captures the nipple of one breast between his teeth, tugging at it gently before closing his lips around it to suckle. _Now_ he has to hold your hips in earnest as you buck and throw back your head and keen. Oh sweet _Christ_ does that feel amazing. He switches to the other one to pay it the same attention, and you're nearly sobbing.

"So responsive, my sweet," he mutters. You can merely nod. This seems to please him. "Good... one of your first lessons is to not speak unless given permission by your Master. Do you understand? You have my permission to answer."

"Yes... yes Master!" you gasp, the words feeling deliciously right on your tongue.

He fairly purrs. " _Good_." He presses against you now, and you feel his hardness through the trousers of his suit.

"I'm going to fuck you. But not _right_ now. I'm going to make you _wait_ for it," he says, and you can nearly see that smug look on his face.

You feel like you want to cry. Oh, that's just not _fair_ , but you stop thinking that because this is _exactly_ what you want. You can hear him moving around the room, and you start when you feel the cool texture of leather on your belly.

"This is a riding crop. I'm not going to use it on you now, I'll ease you into it. I already know you'll love it," he purrs. You nod. Oh, yes... you _are_ going to love it. You worry your lower lip and he, of course, catches it. "I give you permission to speak," he says, almost lazily.

"Please, Master...  _please_... take me," you beg. There is a long pause.

"In good time," he responds. You really _do_ choke out a sob this time; you're so aroused that it hurts. He's keeping you on the edge for as long as he can, to test your mettle. After about five more minutes of teasing with feathers, the tip of the crop, and his mouth, Mycroft finally takes pity on you. You're sagging against the ropes already, almost worn out by the teasing and denial of release.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he whispers into your ear and you almost cry out in relief. You start as you feel the hard length of him run against the slickness of your folds. You arch out of reflex, and he slips into you. You stifle a gasp; he's amazing. Long and thick, Mycroft manages to reach every spot that you adore. He lets out a muffled groan as he sheathes himself to the hilt inside of you.

Without a word or warning, he sets his pace, rough and fast with the occasional slow interlude that make you want to beg. He keeps his hands cupped around your bum and guides one of your legs around his hips, and the angle change is enough. You come in a blaze, in a flash, in a conflagration. He follows not far behind, groaning.

Mycroft unties your wrists, and massages the feeling back into them. Then he removes your blindfold to see that his icy blue eyes are no longer looking as cold.

"Very well done for a first-time Sub. I can hardly wait to see how much you improve when the crop comes out again," he says, smiling cheekily. You swallow hard. You wonder again what you've gotten yourself into... and then realize that you don't care.


	28. Foxhunt- Jim, Seb, John, and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't mean to, it just happened, but it's one of the best things you've ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by consulting-fuckface: Moriarty/Sherlock/John/Seb because reasons.

You run. You've been running for nearly five minutes, and your breath is coming in short, sharp gasps; you have a stitch in your side, and your adrenaline is high. You are the quarry, and you are being pursued by not one, but four men, namely, a criminal and his sniper, and a consulting detective and his blogger.

It all started out when you stumbled (literally) across the four of them in an alley. The tall detective and his sandy-haired companion you recognize from the papers, same with the shorter man in front of him. But the tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes is new, and he is the one to see you first.

"Boss, we have a witness," he says, his voice low but loud enough to carry. All four heads snap to your direction.

"Well well," the shorter man drawls (Jim Moriarty, your mind hisses, the name remembered from the infamous trial), "a new _addition_ to our game."

"Spare me the dramatics, Moriarty," Sherlock spits (he looks different without that silly hat. And John, his friend, looks anxious). "Your quarrel is with me."

"Oh, but _Sherly_ ," the criminal nearly whines, his Irish brogue almost childish now, "it would be such _fun_. A foxhunt-" His tall blonde companion grins, and your knees go weak as his eyes flash to you. "-And chance has provided the fox. Winner takes the lucky vixen. Loser goes home empty-handed." Your breath catches; you've just become the prey and the prize, all in one.

"And if I refuse?" Sherlock asks.

"Well then... that _would_ be a pity," Jim says, idly examining his nails. Sherlock fumes and finally agrees. All four men look to you.

"Sherlock, you can't be serious," John hisses.

"Shut up, John. It appears that the chase is on," he says. His ice-blue eyes are alight now, and he takes a step towards you.

"Run, little fox. Run from the hounds," the larger blonde man says, baring his teeth in a grin.

You turn, and you bolt.

oOoOo

You keep running, taking random turns as often as you can. _Left. Right. Left. Straight on. Right. Right. Left. Double back. Right_. When you think you've lost them, you settle with your back against an alley wall, hiding in the shadows. Your breath comes harshly, and you try to quiet it, especially when you hear footsteps. Your blood runs hot and cold all at once, and you press harder against the wall, willing yourself to melt into it. You pray that whoever it is will pass by, but you begin to despair and anticipate as the footsteps grow closer.

You'd try to make a run for it, but it's a dead end... you're trapped. No, not trapped. _Herded_. They've been _herding_ you. You hiss a curse under your breath. Time to face the music. You realize now that there are two sets of footsteps instead of one. Facing you as you turn is the tall consulting detective and the still-nameless blonde man who is with Moriarty. You swallow hard as you're pinned in place by twin blue gazes, their eyes fixed completely and utterly on you.

"It seems that we've reached an impasse," mutters Sherlock. The other man snarls. Not too far behind are John and Moriarty. John is slightly winded (you think you can hear him saying 'Damn my leg...') as he walks up to his friend. Moriarty sidles in alongside of his companion.

"Well, Sebastian," he says, giving the blonde mountain a name now, "it looks like we both reached her at the same time. You know what this means?"

"Th-that you let me go?" you stammer. Moriarty looks at you, his eyebrows raised, and then he laughs.

"Let you _go_? How would that let anyone win the game? No, no, my dear little fox... we're going to take _turns_."

You swallow hard. The adrenaline is still pumping through you, and instead of being frightened, you find yourself excited and now aroused. You bite your lip which John mistakes as fear. He goes to you and places comforting hands on your shoulders. "We won't hurt you," he says, and his face and eyes are pictures of sincerity. You nod. Then, almost as if on instinct, he leans in. You reciprocate, and your lips meet.

Thus, with a kiss, the contract is sealed.

Your mouths move against each other, and his skill is surprising and a turn-on all at the same time. He deftly uses his tongue to part your lips and explore your mouth which makes you moan and wind your hands in his short, sandy hair. When you break for air, you both are breathing hard. The three other men who are watching are practically drooling, it seems. Well, Sebastian is, at least. Sherlock and Jim have more of a reign on their emotions and look almost bored, but there's a curiosity to that look, a desire to figure you out.

Jim comes up to you next, nearly pushing John out of the way (which makes Sherlock scowl). "Little fox, time to pay your due," he murmurs, before claiming your mouth. He's rougher than John, less careful and less tender. His kiss is one of domination and obedience, expecting you to go along with what he gives you. You do, of course, and are rewarded with a soft moan into your mouth as he pulls you to him.

He's pushed out of the way by Sebastian, (or Seb...as Jim angrily hisses to him as he moves his employer to one side). Seb claims your mouth just like Jim did, but a little gentler, a little more subtle. His hands wind into your hair, and he tugs back on it, causing you to open your lips fully to him. After only a few seconds of this, he in turn is shoved aside by Sherlock.

"Well... Moriarty's schemes are usually amateur-" here Jim snorts indignantly and he is about to say something cutting "-but I quite like this one, I must admit." Then the tall consulting detective seals his lips to yours. Your eyelids flutter as your hands wind into his curly black hair. His hands roam, though, clutching at your hips, pulling you closer to him. When he's finished, you're a wobbling mess.

"Now the real question is... who is going first?" Sherlock says, slightly breathless. There is an immediate burst of noise as they all start talking at once.

"It was my idea-"

"I found her first-"

"I _kissed_ her first-"

"She liked mine best-"

"GENTLEMEN!" you shout, your voice cutting through the confusion like a whip; they all look to you. "If you keep bickering, I'm going to go home, and you all will forfeit. Am I understood?" There's plenty of scowling and fervent whispering as they work out the order of who gets you first. You can't help but shiver in anticipation, your thighs warming as you become more aroused at the thought of not one, but _four_ men wanting the same thing. _You_.

"I'm going first, pet, as it was _my_ idea in the first place," Jim says finally. "And Sebby here will be joining me." You swallow hard. Two of them? At the same time? Jim walks up and cups your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "Don't worry. We don't bite. Much," he says, flashing a quick, sharp grin. He moves behind you as Seb walks up, nearly pinning you to the wall. Jim begins to press kisses to your shoulders as Seb lavishes attention on your neck. You let your head loll back to allow them both easier access to your skin. Slowly, Seb hitches up your skirt and presses two fingers to the crotch of your knickers, which are now damp. He chuckles.

"Boss, she's soaked," he says. You can practically hear the smug grin on Jim's face.

"Good. That means I can do this easier," he says, and he slides first one, then two fingers inside you. You arch and gasp, digging your fingers into Seb's shoulders as Jim works in and out of you, curling and twisting. You can feel your end coming up.

"Oh no, no, _no_ , that won't do, not at all," Jim murmurs. "Sebby... you've been a good Tiger.. .you may have her," he says in a magnanimous fashion. The tall blonde man's face splits into a wide grin. He quickly frees himself from his trousers and rolls a condom on; you swallow again... he's big. _Very_ big. He lines himself up and slips inside of you with a low groan. You gasp... he _is_ huge, and good _God_ does he feel spectacular.

"F- _fuck_... so hot and tight," he hisses. You arch into him, desperate for movement. He snarls and begins to move his hips in almost lazy circles. You whimper as he works in and out of you, feeling your already keyed-up body begin to clench around him. You suddenly feel Jim rubbing against you, his length enclosed by a condom as well. He doesn't slip inside of you, he chooses to leave that to his Tiger, or whatever he was... but you're so _close_.

"Come for us," the criminal murmurs into your ear in that gorgeous voice, and you do, falling so fast that everything is a blur and a whirlwind of light and sound and color.

As you finish, fluttering and arching and keening, Seb thrusts into you three times and groans low in his throat. You can feel him pulse and jerk inside of you, emptying himself into the condom. Jim isn't far behind, digging his fingers into your hips as he grinds against you. Another two thrusts and he's gone as well, snarling and sinking his teeth into your shoulder. That causes you to cry out and hiss in surprise as another climax catches you off guard. Slowly, the two men withdraw, leaving you leaning against the wall as they dispose of the used condoms and tuck themselves back into their pants.

"Our turn," John says, and his face is darkly eager. You swallow as your legs tremble.

"You can go first, John... I still need to think," Sherlock says, regarding you with this head tilted to one side. You wonder exactly what he has to think about, and then, your mind already in the gutter, you realize he _does_ have several options to consider. John has already rolled on a condom and  is taking you in with his eyes as he walks towards you. He wraps his arms around your waist as he presses against you.

"At first, I thought this was all different kinds of a bad idea, but now... I'm wondering why," he murmurs into your ear. You can't think of a bad reason either, especially as you feel his cock nudging insistently into your belly. He slowly slides against your sex, gathering your wetness and easing inside of you. He's thick, though not as big as Seb and you make a noise low in your throat.

"Jesus, he wasn't kidding," John pants. You moan as he guides one of your legs to wrap around his hips, changing the angle and depth of him within you. He begins to move, setting a moderate pace that is enough to leave you on the edge and deny you from going over. He lets one hand drift down to where you're joined, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and working at it with his fingers. With a particularly deep thrust and a good tweak, you're gone, clenching around his manhood, moaning. He comes as well, his movements erratic as he climaxes. He catches his breath, resting his head against your shoulder and pressing soft kisses there; John's gentler than the two men before him, and you smile and thank him when he pulls out. You're nearly exhausted as you lean against the wall, and you feel like you're forgetting something.

" _Now_ it's my turn." Sherlock's deep voice says. Oh. Not something... some _one_. He's smirking, and you swallow. You wonder what he's thought of in the time it took for John to fuck you. You can't wait to find out. Sherlock takes his time walking to you. No, not walking...  _stalking_ , like he's some huge predatory animal. You feel less like a fox now and more like a rabbit.

"I, much like John, failed to see the merit in this game. But now I realize that there is a certain..." he pauses, as if searching for the appropriate word to use, " _thrill_ to this sort of thing. The hunt. The chase. The capture..." he's directly in front of you now, his mouth by your ear, his breath tickling the skin, "the _conquest_. Primal and vicious and base, but perfect in its simplicity." You can merely nod, nearly a puddle from his voice alone. "So, in keeping with the savagery," he continues, spinning you around so you're facing the wall. Your hands go out to catch yourself as you stumble slightly; you can feel him rumbling a pleased growl behind you.

"Yes, this will do quite well," he murmurs. You shudder as he slides himself along your slit, sheathed in a condom, his hands clutching your hips. You make little moaning, whimpering noises in your throat.

"Oh? You want this?" he teases.

"Yes," you manage to say, breathlessly. He smirks; you can feel it.

"Patience is a virtue to be rewarded," he says, and drives himself into you to the hilt. You gasp and grit your teeth. Oh, he's perfect, absolutely perfect. The detective starts to move, rolling his hips in long, slow thrusts. You rock back against him, desperate for friction, for release, for _anything_. The minutes drag like hours, and finally, you can feel him start to jerk and twitch.

"Do- you- want- to- come?" he says, punctuating each word with a thrust. You nod, unable to find words. He drops a hand to where you and him are one, like John did, and tweaks that sensitive nub. You shatter, shrieking and clamping yourself around him. He comes with a groan that's nearly subvocal, one that you can more _feel_ than hear.

"Perfection," he murmurs into your skin, before he presses a soft kiss underneath your ear. He pulls out and disposes of the condom, tucking himself away. You manage somehow to rearrange your clothing, turning around slowly to see Jim regarding you.

"You know... I think we should have a fox hunt more often," he muses. You can't help but agree.


	29. Learning How- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're a lab technician at Bart's, always admiring Sherlock from afar...until one day when he comes in alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Ally: Sherlock has limited sexual interest, and a habit of too much honesty. Would LOVE to see him knocked sideways by his own lust, and trying to explain to the object of his desire, having no idea how hot he sounds. Dirty talk pls!

You've been working in the lab at St. Bart's Hospital for over a year now; the food is all right and the pay is decent, but there's really one reason you come to work anymore, and that is the hope of seeing Sherlock Holmes in the laboratory working on an experiment for some case or other. He's tall, dark, and handsome, has the voice of chocolate, seems to be perpetually unavailable, and is almost never without the companionship of his flat mate, Dr. John Watson. You've assisted him in some of his more recent cases, and he treats you rather like the rest of the people around him (with cold indifference), but you're always very kind and polite. After all, you weren't raised to be an animal. You have manners.

Today is an anomaly because Sherlock has arrived without John and does not look too pleased. As always, you ask if there is anything you can do, and he gives you a peculiar look.

"Yes. I realized this morning that my body seems to be drawn to you more than anyone else. And I absolutely hate admitting this, but I'm rather at a loss for what to do. I mean, I'm not an idiot, I understand the principle of attraction and sexual relations, but I rather... ah... don't know quite exactly how to go about dealing with them."

Your mind goes completely blank for a few seconds as you process that Sherlock bloody Holmes has just told you he likes you and wants to get off with you. "I- I can, well, I can _help_ if that's what you're asking-"

"Excellent. Shall we start?"

"Wait, _now?!_ "

"Of course. Did you think I meant in an hour or next Tuesday? I want you right now!"

You realize, after your heart ceases beating in your ears, that he probably has no idea what he sounds like, demanding that he have you right then. Blushing furiously, you close the distance between the two of you, placing a hand on his chest. "Is it all right if I kiss you, then?"

"Why?"

"Because usually such, um, relations start with a kiss."

His skepticism soon changes to curiosity, and before you can blink, he's taken you in his arms and is kissing you. Hard. He's fairly inexperienced and is doing more to bruise your lips than turn you on, so you take his face firmly in your hands, stilling him and taking the lead. You kiss more gently and slowly, taking your time and exploring his mouth, and _god_ does he learn fast. He pries your lips open with his tongue and mirrors your grip on his face, now kissing you soundly. You moan loudly, arching into him, and he suddenly stops; he drops his hands and steps back. "Was I not doing that correctly?"

You stare at him incredulously. "You're serious? Sherlock... that was amazing!"

"Then why did you make that noise? Unless it was a noise of pleasure and satisfaction and not one of pain although I could have accidentally bitten or pressed to hard-"

You tug him forward and kiss him into silence. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"Frequently." He drops his hands to your hips and pulls you closer, his fingers then wandering and exploring your body through your blouse and skirt. You shiver, and again he hesitates.

You groan in frustration. "What is it _now_?

"You shivered. I thought you were cold."

"I shivered because what you were doing felt nice! Are we going to have to stop every five seconds to explain things?"

He almost looks embarrassed, and you sigh, hugging him tight. "Sorry. It's been ages since the last time I... got off with anyone. I'm a bit impatient."

"That is a trait we happen to have in common," he growls, suddenly sweeping you up onto one of the lab tables. "I hate waiting and prefer to get results as quickly and efficiently as possible."

"Not here!!!" you hiss, suddenly blushing scarlet. "Anyone could walk in!"

"Ah yes, a sound deduction." Moving fast, he drags you through the lab to a disused broom cupboard and ushers you in. "This should suffice for now. If were closer, I'd take you back to Baker Street, but yes, I can see this working in here."

He locks the door and crowds you against the wall, suddenly huge in the small space. "You smell very interesting... lavender... hint of jasmine..." He drops his nose to the side of your neck and takes a deep breath, smelling you as if he would devour you. Your knees begin to tremble and you clutch at his arms to keep yourself upright.

"Feeling a tad weak, are we?"

"You're rather overwhelming."

"Oh? How so?"

Oh god, he is going to make you explain? "How you can... can take me apart with a look... the way your voice...  _drops_ when you whisper... the way your eyes seem to burn with intelligence... Sherlock, you're _gorgeous_ and amazing... and I want you _so bad_."

A slow, knowing smirk transforms his face into an expression of absolute hunger. "And I do believe, correct me if I'm wrong, that I want you too."

Your eyes flicker to the front of his trousers. _Yeeeeeep_. "I'd say you do," you murmur, brain barely processing that the famous detective is in a broom cupboard with you and hard for you.

The first thing you take off his your lab coat, and Sherlock drops it by the door, his finger undoing the buttons on your blouse. They're long and pale and very strong, barely brushing your skin until your blouse joins the coat. You help him off with his jacket, eagerly revealing the pale skin of his chest as his far too sexy purple shirt comes off and joins the other clothes.

"So curious... you tremble at my touch, yet you say it's not from fear but lust."

"You keep talking and I'm gonna jump you right here."

Now he looks like he's just got a case. "So, this entire question of sex and lust is incredibly confusing, but it would seem you enjoy hearing me talk?"

Your eyes widen much to his amusement. "Your assent is easy enough to read. Well then, what happens now?"

You blink. Then you blink again. "You mean... you've never..."

"No. It is, I have to admit, one of the reasons I'm rather confounded by all of the chemicals flooding my brain. The effect seems to get stronger when I'm looking at you."

"Well then... what about now?" You undo the hooks on your bra, letting your breasts free from their constraints. Looking into his eyes, you see several things flicker through, confusion being the strongest, lust the second. Sherlock reaches out and his fingertips brush over your breasts, flicking over the nipples and making you tremble again.

"Please Sherlock... do that again..."

"Why?"

" _Why?!_ Because it feels- _ahhh_!!!" Infuriating man had figured out you liked it and just waited for you to start explaining before taking your nipples in his fingers and tweaking hard.

"Is this considered rough?" he asks, a sudden twinkle in his eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say that he seemed to be figuring out how it all worked pretty fast.

"I g-guess so-  _ahh_!!" You throw your head back, mouth hanging open as he plays with the buds until they're hard and aching and your knickers are completely soaked. "Sherlock... don't t- _tease_!!"

"This is teasing?"

"YES!"

"Then what should I do? I'm rather intrigued by your reactions and responses to _this_." He rolls your nipples between his finger and thumb, and you nearly fall to the floor. Seizing his face in your hands, you kiss him to try and distract him, realizing a few seconds too late that it's a futile effort with his huge mind and intelligence focused on you.

Nipping at his lip, you reach out through the haze of pleasure-pain in your mind and brush your fingers over his nipples. Now _that_ stops him dead in his tracks, a look of complete surprise on his face.

"Liked that, did you?"

The confusion is back, but curiosity is there too. "Safe to conclude that's how it feels to you as well?"

"It's the same type of tissue, so yes. Similar nervous system response." You shift against the wall, pressing your legs together as you struggle to get some friction. He notices, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"So turned on it hurts... touch me, please, Sherlock."

"Touch you?"

"Yes, you infuriating man! Touch me here!" Grabbing his hand, you guide him down between your legs, pressing his fingers against your knickers.

"You're wet. The fabric is drenched."

"Yes, it happens, now touch me, rub, anything, _please!!!_ "

Sherlock tugs you both down to the floor, straddling you on his lap and leaning you back against the wall, exposing your knickers. He tilts his head, eyes darting back and forth until he reaches out and touches you, rubbing against the fabric at first and then sliding them aside and touching your bare, slick skin. When he finds your clit and handles it the way he did your nipples. you very nearly come. "I w-want... Sherlock I want you... inside me...  _please,_ " you practically sob.

The detective slides you down his legs enough that he can get his trousers undone and his pants to his knees. You stare as he reveals himself, his erection fairly long and thick, curved a bit at the head. Reaching to the side, you fumble for a box you know is hidden there and come up with a condom, ripping it open and sliding it on him. Sherlock's eyes close and he moans, grasping your hands once the protection is on, lacing your fingers. "Do you still want what you asked?"

You nod, your mouth going dry. He takes you by the waist and slides you back up his legs, bending his knees behind you and sheathing himself in your heat. After all of the buildup, to finally have him inside you feels phenomenal. His back is pressed against the wall behind him, his expression one of amazement. "So this... is what... it's like..."

You've managed to forget until then that he's a virgin. Swallowing hard, you kiss him, parting his lips with your tongue and bracing your hands on his shoulders as your grind down. The friction is perfect, hot, and he's so hard for you. You keep rocking down until he figures out that he can thrust up. He tightens his grip on your hips, helping pull you down as he pushes up, and _ohgod_ in heaven, that's just even more perfect than before.

You try to keep your sounds to a minimum, aware that your boss could walk through the lab at any second, but Sherlock seems to like it when you moan, and he drinks it all in as you kiss, the pace growing faster and faster, threatening to topple brooms and boxes on the two of you until he suddenly finishes, slamming up and coming hard, your name on his lips as he breaks the kiss and buries his face in your shoulder. Rocking a few more times in the right spot, and you follow, shaking with the force of your climax.

The both of you slowly come down from the high, and you cover his face with kisses, relishing the closeness as long as it lasts. Sherlock's lips find your ear once more. "And that was only... my first try," he whispers. "Shall we continue this... back at Baker Street?"


	30. Making You Happy- John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg are going to have you again, only this time, you are in control of the experiment at the Diogenes club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Hmmmm, maybe pegging? Pegging would be kind of cool to include, and if the narrator is pegging, she can keep fucking the boys for as long as it takes. I'd love to see the narrator as the boys to mess around with one another to some extent. They're all beautiful, who doesn't want to see them get down with one another? The narrator is going to turn these boys cock-curious if it's the last thing she does.
> 
> Requested by Meganbobness: Oh hey, you could even do bukkake with this group! I'm not really full of sexy feelings about bukkake but I am into these four guys and if they were the ones doing the frosting, it would definitely be sexy. (**I did try a little bit of this, I may bring it back later to try and work it in more...working on my comfort level with it.**)
> 
> Requested by Shica: Could I ask for Sherlock teasing only with his voice? getting her hot and bothered without a single touch, and without allowing her to touch herself, even to the point of desperation?
> 
> (Yep, I fit 3 requests into this one. Have fun!)

A few weeks have passed since Mycroft's little experiment... if you can call it that. Mostly you think of it as the time four guys were into you and you almost lost track of your orgasms. You told your boyfriend a few days later that you even wouldn't mind doing that again as long as you had a little bit of warning before hand. You're both in bed after he's made love to you several times and you're half asleep, curled up against his chest.

"It would just be three of us," he replies, smoothing your hair back from your forehead.

"Three of you?"

"John, Greg, and myself."

"What about Sherlock?"

Mycroft's eyes darken slightly, and you see a flash of possession go through them. "He's done nothing but complain that he didn't get to take you. He says I was being selfish and hoarding you all for myself."

"Well, I'm only going to agree on a group if it's the same four of you from a few days ago, and that's final."

When his expression refuses to clear, you rub his cheekbones gently. "Please don't worry that I fancy your brother over you. It's nothing like that. It just...it wouldn't be the _same_ , you know?"

"No two experiences are ever the same, love," Mycroft whispers, leaning in close and kissing the one spot on your neck that makes you melt into his arms.

"Will you... consider it, then?"

"Yes. If it will make you happy, I shall."

oOoOo

About two weeks later, you get a text from Mycroft telling you to meet him at the Diogenes Club after work; your day has never gone slower as you slog through the hours imagining all of the things the boys will do to you today and just how much sex you're going to get. Personally, you'd love to be so well-fucked that you can't even walk properly much less form a coherent sentence. When the end of the day rolls around, you're already all packed up and bolt, practically flying through London until you reach the Club. You're escorted through to Mycroft's office and eagerly let yourself in.

A few things are different this time.

For one, the mattress is already in the center of the room, and there are sheets and blankets on it as well. Another consists of a rather large box of... well...  _toys_ next to Mycroft's favorite chair. Lestrade is just hanging up his coat when you come in, and he smiles at you. Sherlock is in conference with Mycroft (no, that's not right. He looks like he might murder your boyfriend at the moment) and John is doing everything he can to break them up.

"So, are we gonna get this party started?"

Sherlock jumps and whirls around, taking in your flushed face and mussed hair from the windy journey through the city.

"Now then, Sherlock, I'm sure you can be civilized about this."

"My job is not to be civil, Mycroft. That's yours."

"When will you stop behaving like some spoiled child?"

"When you start sharing what you agreed to."

"Might I remind you that she is _my_ girlfriend, not yours-"

"Only because you met her first and kept her away from me-"

"Yes and because you're terribly jealous when I have something you don't-"

"OI. GENIUSES!"

Both men turn to look at you, noting how your expression looks vaguely manic.

"I'm not some...  _prize_ to be won! Now, Mycroft, you said Sherlock could do what he wanted today, and you would include him if it made me happy. I want _all four of you_ , so having Sherlock fully participating would make me _very_ happy. I also have the feeling it is making you extremely jealous, and you shag better than anyone I know when jealous, so if you can't cooperate for one afternoon with the detective..." You blow a raspberry and give him the backwards 'V' with your fingers, "Jog on." (1,2)

Five seconds of dead silence follow, broken in the end by Greg and John collapsing to the floor in gales of laughter and the Holmes boys looking rather scandalized.

"Now, I'd like a moment to examine the contents of the box and figure out what _I_ would like to do today, and it definitely starts with the four of you shirtless, so _move_!"

While they scramble to obey your orders, you drop your coat and bag, toe off your shoes, and kneel by the box. Some of the things you find make you blush bright red, but others start giving you ideas. In the end, you pull out a harness, a rather large, curved dildo, a bottle of stimulating lube, a box of ribbed condoms, and a few silk scarves. You lay your choices out on the floor as the four men gather around.

"So, here's what I'm thinking," you begin, looking up at each of the men in turn. "I want Sherlock to go first, and I want him to talk to me. Dirty as you like," you add when you meet his gaze. "You can use the blindfold and do whatever you please with me." He picks up the scarves, looking very satisfied.

"After that, I'd really like to try pegging. It's been buzzing around in my head all day, and I'd like to do that with Greg and John. I get to take one of you while the other gets me from behind." Both the doctor and the DI look a little apprehensive, but you just shake your head and smile. "If my boyfriend is to be believed at all, and he is usually right about this sort of thing, both of your have bi-sexual tendencies. He does as well, and he assures me that it feels really amazing."

You turn to face the British Government. "As for _you_... you are going to watch. If after I've tried my ideas and I feel like it, all of your bottled up jealous can break through your oh-so-careful self control, and I will be at your mercy. Understood?"

Mycroft nods, his expression meticulously schooled into one of clear indifference.

"Very good. Now, go sit at your desk and watch, darling."

oOoOo

As Mycroft takes his seat behind his desk, Sherlock slips up behind you and binds your eyes, the scarf shutting out all the light in the room. You start and try to turn, but he tightens his grip on the silk and whispers in your ear, "Oh no, no... _you_ said I get to do whatever I please, so I will. I want you to stand here while I talk. Let me watch you unravel."

You squirm slightly as his voice drops to a low purr. "Oh, and I should add now... you aren't allowed to touch yourself."

" _What_?!"

"Whatever. I. Want. Now, stand there."

You stop fidgeting and stand still, fighting the urge to turn and follow his movements.

"Well then, you seem to learn rather fast... although I suppose my brother has done his own training of you... you know how he likes to be such a tease when he's having you? Oh don't look so surprised. One look at his face and I can deduce the majority of the details of his sex life. He likes the power. So do I. If you will, it's something of a... weakness we share. The thrill of watching your every command be obeyed." His lips hover over your throat so you can feel a small puff of air before he moves away again; you're still fully clothed, and you can feel a wet spot forming through your knickers. (3)

"Since that time, I've been imagining all the different ways I could have you, could take you, _want_ to take you... but I rather like this because you don't know what's coming next or what I'll say... you're at the mercy of my voice, little one. I rather like watching you squirm. You aren't allowed to speak, either, in case you're getting any ideas."

You swallow your moan but clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms.

"Careful there, my dear. Wouldn't want you injured or damaged... no, we have to keep you nice and prim and proper for brother dearest... but, of course, haven't you ever wondered what _I'm_ like in bed? Of course you have; it's taking everything you have not to throw yourself at me and take back what you said before... I would spend hours learning your body... every... single... inch of skin with my fingers... and then my mouth... and that would be before I touched your sex. I would devote as much time as I could possibly muster to just that area of your body... fingers... teeth... tongue... my cock... you tasted me last time, but I was rather put out that I didn't get to do the same for you... seems a mite unfair, but no matter... I've pictured you in every possible position since then, including a few impossible ones as well to see if they would work..."

"Jesus, Sherlock, give the girl a break! She's about to pass out." Greg.

The DI has a point; your knees have nearly given out several times, and if his voice gets any huskier, you won't have anything decent to wear home. "Please... Sherlock... oh please take me..."

"Is that what would make you happy?" His lips are _almost_ touching your ear.

" _Yes_ , oh yes, _please_."

The next thing you know, you are on your back and Sherlock is stripping you, your clothes flying all over the room until you are bare, and then he lowers his mouth to your dripping sex and you cry out, your hands fisting in the sheets under you. He does indeed devote a significant amount of time to you, teasing and tugging and licking and sucking, walking your fine line between undone and on the edge... so when he pulls away and drops his trousers to roll on the condom, you're gasping for breath and chanting his name.

He takes you slowly, far more slowly than you'd thought he would. He lets you feel every single inch as he presses in deeper and deeper, his mouth kissing along your collarbones as he begins to move. Before too long, he has a punishing pace going, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room along with your whimpers and cries.

"Come for me, little one... let me hear you _scream_..."

And you do. His name bursts from your throat in a cry of pure bliss as you spasm and shatter, pulling his own orgasm from him. He rewards you with a gentle kiss to the lips before extracting himself and cleaning up. Someone pulls off the blindfold, and you look into John's bright blue eyes, and you see concern there.

"I'm fine," you whisper, "though water might be nice before I go again."

oOoOo

Once they've sufficiently re-hydrated you and you've gotten your breath back, you turn to John and Greg, smirking at them. "All right boys, trousers off. Have you decided who I'm taking, then?"

They glance at each other for a moment, and Greg finally steps forward. "Yeah. I'll do it."

You shake your head and smile at him. "Oh, come now. It won't be that bad. Mycroft's been giving me anatomy lessons... turns out you're sensitive in places you probably didn't even know about."

Silver Fox is blushing in seconds, and you take his face in your hands and kiss him, slowly encouraging him to loosen up. Instinct and practice kick in, and he has you melting in his arms in seconds. There's this really clever thing he can do with his tongue, and you have no clue what it is, only that it disconnects your speech for a few seconds.

John pulls you away from Lestrade to kiss you himself; he's bare now, and the DI takes this opportunity to finish stripping. You marvel at the difference of their techniques, noting how John is just that little bit more subtle than Lestrade when it comes to snogging. Soon, Greg's lips are on your shoulders and you decide it's time to move things along. You break away from John and look Greg in the eye. "Bend over Mycroft's chair."

He does, taking deep breaths as John helps you with the strap-on harness. The doctor holds up the lube bottle, and you coat your fingers in the stuff, doing your best to ignore the combined gazes of Sherlock and Mycroft as you start to work Greg open. Taking everything you've ever had done to you and applying it, you gently pump the finger in and out of him until he's relaxed enough that you can add a second finger. John's paying attention to your back with his mouth, kissing and sucking at your skin.

Once you've gotten three fingers to loosen up Greg sufficiently, you apply (with John's help) a very liberal amount of lube to the dildo in the harness. You kiss Greg's shoulder blades when the tip strokes his loosened entrance. He shivers at the contact, and you very, very slowly ease in; the DI is gasping and moaning, a stream of garbled curses pouring from his mouth as you bury the toy in him.

"Oh jesusfuckingchrist... MOVE, goddamnit!"

Giggling, you do, experimenting with this new form of pleasure. You've had several men in you, but you've never really been _in_ another man before. Now you see why they love it so much. There's a certain heady feeling of power that comes with being able to fuck another person, knowing that all of their noises are for you.

You've almost forgotten about the doctor until he stills you with a hand to your lower back, bending you over and spreading your legs a bit. You make your own noise of approval and pleasure as he enters you... and then a whole new level of this setup hits you. As you work in and out of Greg... you work yourself on and off of John's cock.

The mental image alone nearly makes you come, and you speed back up, helping the DI bend over a bit more until you find just the right angle and he yells; you've found his prostate. You're positively gleeful as you thrust in and out of him, impaling yourself on John each time until you come, breaking around the doctor and pushing through the haze to bring Greg off. He's stroking himself like mad, and with a sudden, sharper thrust, he's gone. That just leaves John who pulls out as you slump over Greg and comes on your back. You gasp at the sudden warmth, shivering slightly as it trickles down your skin... but then John draws closer and begins to kiss and lick it off, and you fully collapse onto the silver haired man beneath you.

oOoOo

Mycroft has been extremely quiet throughout the entire event, but you haven't felt his gaze leave you once. As John and Greg help disentangle you and the doctor helps the DI to (gently) have a seat in the corner and drink a bit of water, you hear your boyfriend's voice.

"Take that off and come here."

You shiver slightly, undoing the harness and dropping the toy on the floor before going to stand before him at his desk. The man looks like he's barely holding it together, and when you finally look into his eyes, they are completely black. "Did you like the show?" you ask, smirking slightly.

"You will address me as 'sir' or 'Master'," is his only reply.

All the blood in your body rushes to your face. You recently told him your desire to try out some Dom/sub stuff, but you never thought he'd choose now to start. "Y-yes, sir."

"Very good." Mycroft stands and strips, watching you he entire time; even the others are silent and watching.

"You've had your turn to be in charge... so now it's _mine_ ," the elder Holmes growls. "And I shall have you know that I do not share with my brother, so I am going to reclaim what is mine, girl."

You swallow hard, watching as he reveals himself and rolls on a condom. He rounds the desk and backs you against it, the hard, ornate edge hitting your lower back. Mycroft lifts you easily onto it, laying you down and wrapping your legs around his waist. He begins to grind against you, stroking the outside of your sex with his length as you whimper and moan, fighting the urge to reach out to him.

"Yes... you want me terribly, don't you? So much it hurts... you'll have to beg for me, first."

"Please... please sir... I want you... inside me... please fuck me, Master..."

You hear a groan to your right and know that John is getting hard again. Mycroft looks vaguely pleased. It's not written on his face, but you can see it in his eyes.

"Very well," he purrs, slipping inside you and setting up a brutal pace, fucking you hard and rough into the desk. You can't stop moaning and whimpering as he refuses to touch your clit, and when your hands start to roam down, desperate for the friction, he seizes your wrists and traps them against the desk. Judging by the grunting and other noises from the side of the room, at the very least both John and Greg are wanking to this.

The thought of that turns you on so much that your next words are, "Let me come... oh please, sir, Master, let me come... I love you, Mycroft, let me come!"

He obliges and touches you once and you're gone, coming so hard that you very nearly black out. You're aware of him cleaning you up and laying you on the mattress, and when you open your eyes again, all four of them are smiling at you.

"See? Told you... this was... a good idea..." you say, cracking a grin as they offer you a glass of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1,2)- The "prize to be won" line: Aladdin; "Jog on" is from Hot Fuzz
> 
> (3)- "Weakness we share": thank you The Incredibles


	31. Massage- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an absolutely crap day at work, wouldn't it be nice for your boyfriend, Greg Lestrade, to help you relax?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Foot worship or other body part worship? Showering or being bathed by them and then a massage, something really languid and lovely and pampering oriented

You come back from a very difficult day at work, exhausted both mentally and physically. When you reach the flat that you share with your boyfriend, you're absolutely knackered; you drop your bag and wearily hang up your coat.

"Rough day, luv?" he asks. You look at him and nod. You've been dating Gregory Lestrade for almost a year now, and you know you must look a fright if _he_ asks you if you've had a bad day. He works as a Detective Inspector for the Met, and his rough days usually involve him being shot at. He clucks sympathetically.

"Come on to the bedroom, sweetheart. I've a treat for you," he says. Raising an eyebrow, you follow him. The bedroom is lit softly by candles, and there's gentle music coming from the small speaker system. Now _both_ of your eyebrows are raised and you look at Greg, who's rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I... uh... I've been wanting to do this for a while now. Because a girl like you gave a guy like me a chance," he says. Your heart flutters, and you smile warmly to see the usually straightforward man acting so, well... _boyish_. You cross the room and kiss him soundly. He responds gently, holding you as if you're made of spun glass, breaking the kiss after a moment.

"Everything off, darling, and lie face-down on the bed," he murmurs. You strip and do so, wondering what exactly he has in mind. There are a few soft noises behind you as he moves around the room, then you start as his hands are suddenly on your skin. He's oiled them, and you moan in appreciation as he starts working out the kinks and knots in your neck, shoulders and back. He takes his time, going slowly down your body: the muscles of your buttocks, then your thighs, your calves and ankles, even your feet and toes. When he's done with that, he works his way back up and focuses on your arms, wrists and hands. His fingers are strong and slightly rough from his work (handling a gun, making arrests when needed). Not only is this relaxing you...it's turning you on as well, so by the finishes the massage, you're the odd combination of relaxed and aroused.

"Thank you," you say gratefully. He beams, and you sit up with an effort. You drag him to you by the front of his shirt and give him a fiery kiss. He responds eagerly and you realize that you're not the only one to get excited from the massage.

"Is this for me as well?" you murmur, cupping his cock through the fabric of his trousers.

He lets out a quick breath and replies with a hurried "Oh yes." You smirk.

"Well? Strip..." you dictate, which he does in under thirty seconds. You're in each other's arms in moments. Greg is placing slow, soft kisses on every inch of skin that he can reach which only serves to inflame your passion more.

He continues to pay homage to your body with his lips and tongue, the occasional soft scrape of teeth making your breath catch. It may be trite to think it, but you feel like he's worshipping your body. First the massage, now the slow, sensual foreplay. You softly rail your fingers down his torso to bush his arousal, and he groans.

"I need you now," you whisper into his ear. His motions freeze and he growls. You whimper as he ruts against you, not inside you yet, so when he finally does enter you, a moan low in his throat, you arch gratefully against him. He keeps his movements slow, however, almost languid. Its gentle and teasing, and you bet him for more...which he ignores with a smirk. Finally, he's as desperate as you are, and his thrusts speed up. After all that he's done to (and for!) you, you can feel yourself reaching your peak quickly.

"Oh... oh! Oh _Greg_!" you cry out as you shatter, pulsing, around him. He follows closely after you, twitching and jerking inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he comes, groaning your name. You hold each other close and softly kiss as he slides out of you and disposes of the condom.

"I should be the one thanking you for dating a girl like me," you say to him. he smiles and shrugs, pressing a kiss to your temple. You smirk.

"And now you've given me all _sorts_ of ideas as how to thank you properly," you murmur into his ear. He raises an eyebrow, and you laugh. He'll find out what you have in mind for him... later.


	32. A Man in Uniform- John and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everyone shows up to work in costume...........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: I would LOVE to see some uniform kink with John and Lestrade

Halloween comes around at New Scotland Yard, and this year, as a joke, Anderson and Donovan spread the word for a costume contest, just to see if anyone would show up to work in costume; to their great humiliation, nearly everyone has, including your boss, DI Lestrade. He comes in his full police blues (which he never _ever_ wears) looking fit and trim and far sexier than he has any right to. You decide to go as a pirate lass: torn skirt, puffy, low cut white blouse, knee high boots, the works. All through the day you see various ghosts and ghouls and goblins and witches; as it turns out, nearly everyone in the department has a sense of humor. Several of your co-workers hit on you, but with a carefully placed response of "Away ye thievin' bilge rat," you keep the creepiest of the men at bay.

Towards the end of the work day, John and Sherlock come swanning in, and you nearly faint; both of them also got the memo about costumes. John is in his full soldier uniform: camouflage, combat boots, a new haircut, trimmed short. He's walking straighter and looking sterner... and god damn it if the sight of him doesn't make your knees weak, _especially_ when he stands next to Lestrade. As far as you can tell, Sherlock hasn't really dressed up much until you see the small, white collar at his throat... you're going straight to Hell. You know it. The thought of Sherlock whispering "Let me deduce your sins, my child," in your ear... well, you're pretty thrilled that work is nearly over.

The detective storms out a few moments later, off for something, and you take your chance to hand in your paperwork to Lestrade. You enter his office and give him the stack, noticing a second too late that John is still there; he hadn't followed Sherlock out. "What's your costume then?" the soldier-doctor asks.

"Pirate lass," you respond.

He quirks a blonde eyebrow. "Didn't know pirates were still around."

"Then ye not be knowin' much now, be ye?"

Both officers burst out laughing, and Lestrade shuts the door. "I think we 'be knowin' more than you think. I certainly haven't been able to take my eyes off you for an entire day. Your dress simply isn't decent for the workplace, and as an officer, I'm afraid I'll have to take you in for questioning."

You barely have time to blush before John cuts in. "Hang on a moment, Detective Inspector. Piracy is _illegal_ if I remember rightly." He twitches the blinds shut and locks the door. "Can't risk a dangerous fugitive escaping now, can we?"

"No, I don't think we can. Too right, Captain Watson."

Their voices are getting steadily lower and rougher so by the time Lestrade addresses you, you can barely stand upright. "Do you confess to the crime of piracy?"

Your eyes go wide, and your voice dies in your throat. Both men advance on you, backing you against the wall and not bothering to hide the lust in their eyes; _god_ you want them so badly.

"Did you hear me, wench?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Well then, do you confess?" John.

Straightening your shoulders and giving them your best defiant look, "I do."

"I believe that means she's guilty, Detective Inspector."

"Whose jurisdiction is she under, Captain?"

"Well, piracy is generally an offence punishable by hanging... but I think we can think of something more suitable, don't you?"

"Indeed."

You've never been more turned on in your life as you are listening to these two men deciding what to do with you.

"I think I'd like her against my desk."

"Then shall I watch and take the sofa after? Or the wall, perhaps?"

"Wall would be better. Dangerous fugitives shouldn't be allowed comforts like cushions."

"Care to go first, Detective Inspector since she does work for you?"

"I think I shall. Seems only right since I've had a pirate under my nose for years and never managed to capture her. Then I can hand her over to the Queen's military."

They are wearing matching grins as they finish speaking, and you are so desperate for a kiss that a soft whimper escapes your mouth.

"What was that?"

"Look how eager she looks... I do believe she wants a kiss. Shall we give her one?"

"Well, the prisoner is allowed one request. What shall it be then?"

You don't even hesitate. "I want ye both to be snoggin' me within an inch of me life, sir, and then do with me as ye see fit."

John steps forward, leaning close to your ear. "A taste of what's to come," and he claims your mouth, gentle for less than a second before taking exactly what he wants, his fingers in your hair and his tongue plundering and exploring your mouth. You clutch at him, pressing as close as possible when he suddenly lets go. His hair is mussed and he's panting, but it's all worth it for the hungry grin on his face. "Well, pirate wench knows how to kiss. She's all yours, Detective Inspector."

Your silver-haired boss swaggers forward and yanks you close, holding you almost tenderly, but you can feel the power in his grip. He teases you by hovering over your mouth without connecting your lips, slowly dragging you over to his desk before finally kissing you. He's very rough and possessive, more tongue than teeth, but there's this thing he can do that seems to hit four sensitive spots at once and makes your legs go out from under you. Chuckling, he nips your ear and spins you, knocking you backward onto his desk.

You watch as he frees himself from his trousers (he doesn't undress... oh god he's still in uniform) and finds a condom in his desk, tossing another over to John. "You will address us by our titles or as 'sir.' Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Hmmmm... John, come hold her arms. Don't want her getting any ideas."

Your eyes widen, and you feel the doctor's strong hands encircle your wrists, holding your arms above your head as you lay down across the desk. Lestrade towers over you, hard and wanting. He pushes your skirt up, eyeing your knickers. "Lots of black lace. Where does a pirate afford such pretty things?"

"Trade and the like, sir."

He pulls them off, dropping them next to you. "I can see up your skirt, wench." Lestrade grabs your hips and tugs you closer, resting your booted feet on the arms of his chair to keep your legs spread. The officer guides himself inside, rubbing against you slowly at first and then speeding up, torturing you without entering you until you are quivering in his and John's grip.

"Please... p-please sir... take me... s-stop teasing..."

The men lock eyes and something shifts because Lestrade buries himself in you, causing you to cry out. _God_ he feels bloody fantastic, and he's driving into you, grunting and growling as you gasp and moan. He lowers his head to your chest and mouths at your breast through the cloth, finally growing weary of it and ripping your blouse half off, tugging your bra along with it. Smirking, he sucks your nipple into his mouth and works it expertly; you're on the edge in seconds.

He holds you there until you can barely breathe, hardly able to even get the word 'please' out, and then he thrusts hard once and you see stars, crying out his name as you come. With a satisfied groan, he follows, pulsing into the condom before pulling out, leaving you feeling thoroughly debauched. As you come back to yourself, you feel the hands on your wrists tighten and pull you up, tugging you to the wall, and John faces you, his eyes dark and ravenous as he pins you there. "My turn."

He opts to kiss you again, and your eyes slide back into your skull; he's had practice, and he's quick to get exactly what he wants. He brings your hands to his shoulders while he hikes your skirt back up and wraps your legs around his waist, your ankles crossing behind him to keep you steady.

"Eager, are you, wench?" he growls, letting his mouth drop to your throat and sucking hard. Your resulting moan is embarrassingly loud and wanton, especially when he takes you at the same time. Lestrade was eager to take you and show you who the boss was, but you can tell from the start that John is going to make you beg because he's gently rolling his hips, going as slowly as if he were having lazy morning sex.

"Oh d-don't... don't tease me... please...  _Captain_..."

John doesn't speak, but he does speed up, soon pounding you into the wall. His lips eventually move from your neck to your bare breast, teasing your nipple with his tongue and teeth before taking it into his mouth and sucking _hard_. You keen, arching into him, and he snarls, driving you into the wall with abandon now, the soldier in him dominating every inch of you.

As soon as he can tell he has you on edge, he releases your sore nipple and growls in your ear, "Come for me, wench. That's an order."

You come twice, once from his voice, and a second time when he does. you collapse boneless into his arms as he pulls out, pressing gentle kisses to your head and handing you off to Lestrade while he cleans himself up. The DI brings you over to the sofa and sits down, letting you curl up on his lap. John joins you both a moment later, and the two men cuddle with you until Sherlock comes back, demanding to know why someone was screaming bloody murder in Lestrade's office.


	33. Why the Hell Not? Part 2- Seb and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally decide on a name for Sebastian, but he sends Jim to pick you up instead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by consulting-fuckface: Seb knife usage  
> Startwiththeridingcrop: Knife with Jim

You finally decide, after a week of stewing over it, to take the phenomenal blonde man up on his offer to call and meet up. He sounds slightly bored when he picks up his mobile, but his voice perks up when you introduce yourself. You both are clearly remembering the night in the alley, so when he recommends he pick you up and bring you to his place, you're a bit surprised. You'd figured it would be another something hard and fast, but he sounds like he wants to take his time this go round. You give him your address, and he agrees to come by at seven.

All dolled up in cute jeans and a blouse, your hair down tonight, you wait on the curb when a fairly posh black car rolls up, the door closest to you opening. You look in and see, not Sebastian, but a slight, dark haired man in a really well cut suit. "Are you here for me?"

"Do you have an engagement with Sebastian Moran tonight?" Oh god, his voice is perfect Irish silk, soft but incredibly powerful.

"Y-yes."

"Then I am here for you."

You stand there, still slightly unsure.

"I don't have all night. Are you staying or coming?"

Just something about the way he says it has you thinking about the ripped blonde waiting for you, so you get in, shutting the door. "Where's Sebastian?"

"He got called away on a last minute job, asked if I would be so good as to pick you up for him."

"Where are we going?"

"He's been staying at my flat, so I told him I'd bring you back there. Which reminds me, we haven't been properly introduced." He holds out his hand, smiling at you. "Jim Moriarty... hiiii."

You take it, giving him your name and glancing out the window at the city going by.

oOoOo

The ride doesn't last very long, and sooner than you expect, you arrive at a large building. Jim leads you in, taking the elevator all the way up to the penthouse. Your jaw drops to see the place: everything clearly expensive and in good taste, following a theme of black and silver with hints of red splashed about to draw your eye.

"I'm afraid our dearest Tiger won't be home for a little while longer," the Irishman says, closing the door. "Might I offer you something to drink in the meantime? Some wine, perhaps?"

"Yes, actually. That'd be nice, thanks." You take a seat on the black leather couch as he pops the cork.

"I hope a Cabernet is suitable," Jim says, bringing you a glass with the wonderful dark red liquid. You thank him, taking a small sip as he leaves the bottle and goes back into the kitchen for something, returning a moment later with a bowl of strawberries. He sets it on the coffee table and takes a seat by your side. The slight man lifts his glass to you, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "To an interesting night."

You repeat the toast, taking a real sip of the wine and humming at the pleasant warmth that spreads through your body. Before you realize, you're on your second glass and are chatting easily with the man, giggling as he describes one of Sebastian's escapades in the kitchen that nearly burned down the building.

"Might I offer you a strawberry?" he asks as you bring yourself back under control, gasping for breath after the story.

"I'd like that," you reply, watching as he plucks one of the berries from the bowl and offers it to you. Setting your glass on the table, you lean in and take a bite, tasting the sweetness of the juice on your tongue and licking of a drip that trickles from the corner of your mouth.

Before you quite comprehend what has happened, Jim has leaned forward and is kissing the rest of the juice from your lips.

Your eyes widen as he takes your face in his hands, deepening the kiss with a sweep of his tongue that makes your heart pound; he kisses you as if he is drinking you in, exploring your mouth with a genuine curiosity and excitement, and a few seconds later, your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you're kissing him back, practically straddling him on the sofa and moaning into his mouth.

"What the fuck, Jim?!"

You jump, trying to pull away from the Irishman, but he just shifts, sitting up slightly and keeping you practically in his lap. He glances lazily up at none other than Sebastian Moran fresh from work... and your mouth falls open when you finally take him in.

He's dressed all in black from head to foot, his clothing tight-fitting, a belt with a gun clearly strapped to his hip accenting his angles, and combat boots completing the outfit. You start drooling at how the clothes compliment his blonde hair and blue eyes, but the expression on his face almost has you trembling in fear.

"You seriously picked up my date and then seduced her, you arrogant prick?"

"I think you'll find she was quite willing, Tiger."

Tiger, a new name to add to the list of things to call the blonde. He grabs you by the wrists and hauls you off Jim, pressing you flush to his body; clearly, whatever his work is turns him on something awful. "It would seem that I have to remind you who you belong to," he growls in your ear.

If Seb weren't holding you up, you'd be on the floor by now, his voice turning your knees to jelly. You tilt your face up to look at him, but he refuses to kiss you, his eyes nearly black with lust. "Do you want to be in my bed tonight or his?"

"Why can't we both have her, Tiger?"

"Shut it, Jim."

"Oh? Is that any way to talk to your Boss" I ought to have you punished, Moran."

"And I asked you to look after her, not sleep with her, sir."

"She was kissing me back, Sebby dear. I think that means I get first claim to her tonight."

"Oh? You think I'm taking your sloppy seconds, Boss?"

"You'll take whatever I give you, _Sebastian_."

"Not if I mark her first."

Your eyes widen as he scoops you up and runs through the flat, the smaller man on his heels. Seb darts into a room and locks the door swiftly, but you both can hear Jim on the other side.

"Tired of your games. Daddy's had enough now!"

Ignoring the Irishman's voice, Seb turns to you, advancing until you're backed against the wall, pulling out a small switchblade from a hidden pocket of his trousers. He flicks it open, running the smooth, cold steel down your cheek. "I want so much to taste you, pet," he purrs, trailing the point ever so lightly down your collarbone. You realize how little it would take for his hand to slip and spill your blood everywhere.

"I have the steadiest hands you'll ever see, my dear," he murmurs. "And no, I can't read your mind. Leave that to Jim, but your pulse rises with every movement of my blade. Not difficult to guess what you are thinking. If I cut you, it's because I mean to... and I certainly intend to sample all of you tonight; I was far too hasty before. So, did you decide on a name for me?"

Struggling to bring your brain and voice back online, you manage to get out one word: "Tiger."

His eyes dilate even further if that's possible as his lips curl into a feral snarl. "So... you wish to see the beast behind the man, then? I warn you now... he is not gentle."

"Good," you hiss back, your entire body aching for his touch and lips and teeth and tongue that you can barely see straight. Closing the knife, Seb picks you up and throws you onto the bed, kicking off his boots and pouncing, easily pinning you to the mattress. His mouth is ghosting over the pulse point in your neck when the door flies open.

"Care to share, Tiger?"

"She's mine, Boss. Get your own."

"Take your time then. I'll just... watch."

You fail to hide the gasp at his words, bringing Sebastian's attention back to you. He raises an eyebrow. "You didn't know Jim is a bit of a voyeur? Oh are you in for a treat." He sits back, pulling off your blouse and unhooking your bra, dumping the clothes on the floor. Your shoes are next, clattering against the wall as the throws them; then he unbuttons your jeans and slides down your body with them. You're left in your knickers, arms crossed over your chest as both men stare at you.

"Oh, I didn't get nearly enough time to take you in before," Seb purrs, hands taking your wrists and pulling them away from your chest. He pins them to the pillows on either side of your head and dips his lips to your ear. "I plan on taking my time now... perhaps I'll even let you taste my steel before I fuck you."

Groaning, you watch intently as he trails his tongue down your skin (the same path the knife took before), going further until he laps at your left nipple, teasing it into hardness and sucking it into his mouth, simultaneously grinding down into your center and pressing your wrists harder against the pillows. His tongue swirls around the bud once it's inside, his teeth running along the sensitive flesh.

You struggle hard in his grip, forcing him to tighten his hold, and your squirming only serves to rub your clit against the bulge in his trousers, pulling more moans and keening from your throat. He releases your nipple and looks up at you. "I thought you wanted the Tiger tonight, my pet?"

"Y-yes-"

"Then let me work," he growls, giving your other one the same treatment, biting a little harder and tugging at the firm nub with his teeth. Your cry of his name inspires a soft purr of approval from Jim who is leaning against the wall and rubbing his own bulge gently. He meets your gaze and smiles with all his teeth, looking hungry and smug at the same time.

"Does Tiger's mouth feel good, little pet? Do you like his tongue best? Or his teeth?"

"B-both," you pant as Seb gives a hard tug, worrying the flesh a bit before releasing you. He stares down at you and licks his lips, gathering your wrists into one hand as he pulls out his pocketknife.

"Now then... to show Jim here that you're mine... where shall my initials go?"

Your eyes widen in panic as he traces the knife once more over your flesh, choosing the expanse of skin by your belly button for his work. "This probably will hurt, little one," he warns before starting the "S", rutting against you very slightly as he works. You fight to stay still, slight tears of pain leaking from your eyes until he takes the blade away from your skin, a thin, scarlet letter on your belly.

"Shhhhh, love," Sebastian whispers, lowering his mouth to the letter and kissing it, licking at the blood; you feel a stab of arousal shoot through you. The mix of his wet tongue and the burn of the open wound is different from what you've experienced before with other lovers. All too soon, he takes up his knife and begins work on the "M".

This one seems to take longer, but the pain finally ends as his tongue replaces the steel. His mouth comes away stained red with your blood as he finally crawls up your body and claims your mouth. You taste copper and iron along with him, his tongue invading every inch of your mouth, one hand playing with your nipples again. He swallows your cry of pleasure before positively attacking your throat, giving you a love bite comparable to the one from the night in the alley.

"P-please Tiger... need you... w-want you... want you now!"

Sebastian stares you in the face, his mouth dripping with spit and blood. He looks for all the world like an animal feasting on his kill. "Jim, would you like a taste?"

"Don't mind if I do, Tiger-love," the man purrs, taking up the knife and drawing a thin line across your upper arm. He teases it with his tongue while Sebastian focuses on getting your knickers, his trousers, and his pants off, keeping your wrists pinned the whole time. By the time you're finally bare and catch a glimpse of his arousal (just as big as you'd remembered... oh god, you're going to feel so full), you're so wet and wound up that you're convinced you'll explode if he doesn't touch you.

"Jim, look how desperate she is."

"Oh yes... and she tastes even better than I thought she would... you didn't do her justice in your description, Tiger."

"Hard to with such a curious girl... hand me a condom, Boss."

The Irishman fishes one from the side table, rolling it onto Sebastian himself. Less than two seconds later, the blonde takes you in one swift thrust, snarling as he seats himself inside you. You can barely breathe, the only sound coming from your mouth a whimper of need. Seb doesn't move at first, capturing your gaze instead, unblinking, letting you into his eyes to see just how much he wants you right now.

"Tiger... oh Tiger... p-please."

He begins to rock, rolling his hips for slow, smooth, torturous thrusts that have your neck taut and your eyes screwed shut. The huge blonde above you is grunting softly, but the smaller, paler man to your left is murmuring against your skin.

"So spread and wanting... Tiger chose well... look at you... soaked and willing... gorgeous... sensual... bet you'll come like this... he likes the screamers, our Seb... wonder how you'd do if he took you and I fucked him from behind... extra force... must try it sometime..."

It takes less than ten seconds to bring you to the edge after you hear Jim's words, struggling against Seb's hands and begging him with every breath you manage to take.

"You- want- to- come?"

"Yes!"

With a roar, Sebastian attacks the unmarked side of your neck and snaps his hips three times; your orgasm has you screaming his name enough to make a few things in the room rattle. He keeps going even after your done, pulling an equally violent second one from you as he finally climaxes, filling the condom with a groan.

The blonde pulls out slowly, releasing you and leaving you feeling boneless and relaxed, almost drowsy. He cleans you both up and pulls your back against his chest as he lays down next to you, positively worshiping your back with his mouth and your breasts with his hands. You have a fantastic view of Jim, watching with fascination and hunger.

"Tiger, I thought you were going to share."


	34. Baker Street Boys, Part 4- JOHNLOCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never thought you'd ever see Sherlock and John snogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ever lovely MirithGriffin (MARVELOUS writer and Johnlock shipper {READ HER STUFF}), requested John and Sherlock going at it.
> 
> Here we go.

You wake from a dead sleep to hear a clatter from the kitchen. Throwing on your robe and slippers, you sneak from John's room and head downstairs to see what's going on. You stop short at the foot of the stairs, eyes widening as you take in the sight before you, part of your mind convinced it's all a dream.

John and Sherlock are kissing.

You've never given much thought to guy on guy action, but seeing it here so close, something in you stirs. Sherlock has John pressed against the wall and looks like he's devouring the smaller man's mouth, hungrily, eagerly. The blonde is giving back as good as he's getting, tangling his fingers in the dark curls you love so much and tugging him closer.

Something of Sherlock's experiment must have led him to wonder how much of his own reaction was determined by you and by John, and judging by the boys' respective bulges in their trousers, both of them are certainly bi; the detective gets one of John's legs around his hip and rocks forward, pulling a groan from John that has your own knees weak and is turning you on... guess you also have a bit of a voyeur streak in you.

John pushes Sherlock back, forcing him over to the couch and pinning him down, leaning in to kiss his mouth once more before they strip in a flurry of shirts and trousers and pants; you realize that they must have just come home from solving a case, adrenaline fueling their activities, and you take a seat on the stairs, eyes riveted as John climbs on top of Sherlock, grinding their arousals together just skin on skin.

The room is full of muffled moans and whimpers (most of them from Sherlock) and they grow louder as John starts playing with the tall, pale man's nipples, rolling one between his thumb and forefinger and sucking the other one into his mouth. Sherlock looks gorgeous, mouth agape and chest heaving under John's ministrations; you find yourself rubbing your legs together, aching for his touch.

Soon, though, Sherlock takes over, catching John's mouth with his and wrapping a hand around them both. The extra touch sends surprise across the doctor's features, and his head falls back. the detective strokes and squeezes and pulls, faster and faster until John barely has time for a warning and he comes, coating Sherlock's belly with his release. Pulling away as the hze of endorphins settles over his mind, he slides down his flat mate's body and takes him in his mouth.

Sherlock's curls are damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead as his fingers tangle in John's hair, every suck and lick and movement of the smaller man forcing the detective's voice down lower and lower, until he comes, his moan of "' _John_ " practically subsonic. The blonde pulls off, licking his lips and smirking at the man as he crawls back up his chest and kisses him sweetly.

Your bum falling asleep alerts you to how long you've been sitting still, and you slowly stand, not wanting to disturb their amazingly hot post-shag snog on the sofa. Turning, you start to head up the stairs and back to bed.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

Freezing, you turn and find both men staring at you, John looking slightly surprised, but Sherlock looking very pleased. "Judging by the jump in your pulse rate and the flush creeping into your cheeks, I would say so. Just like us, you do so enjoy watching, but it would seem you did not realize that before. John, you owe me a fiver."

Surprise gives way to indignation. "You did all of this for a _bet_?!"

"Not just a bet," John said with a grin, digging a five pound note out of his trouser pocket and throwing it at Sherlock. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, as well. Can't let you have all the fun now, can I?"

Shaking your head, you head for the stairs. "Goodnight."

"Won't you come and stay? I'm sure we could find something to-"

" _No_ , Sherlock. I'm tired. You both wore me out today."

"And we shall again in the morning."


	35. Just a Phase- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While helping Greg clean out his closet, he discovers something from his younger days...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness and xmelx: Punk Lestrade. Now, really, who hasn't imagined that at least once?

You've been helping out an old friend of yours, Greg Lestrade; he's been getting rid of his things from when he was a younger man (stuff he didn't use or wear any more), and you volunteered your time. Not just because you felt like being a good friend... you've had a crush on the silver-haired DI for a while now. You're rifling your way through a box of old books when you hear him say:

"Oh my God... I forgot about this." You turn and see him holding up a leather jacket, well-worn and supple. Your eyebrows go up and he catches your look. "Yeah, I know, not very like my current image. I had a ... _punk_ phase," he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"You know that means you have to try it on for me now," you say, grinning mischievously.

He huffs, but smiles good-naturedly and takes the jacket and leaves to get changed. You go back to sorting through the box. He's gone for a while; you've just begun to wonder what's been taking him so long when you hear movement behind you.

"How do I look?" he asks, and when you turn to see... your jaw drops. The leather jacket is draped comfortably around his shoulders, he's put on a black t-shirt that shows off his taut muscles and a pair of jeans that show off his lean legs. To top it all off, he's wearing a pair of sunglasses. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "If you keep your mouth open like that, you're going to catch flies," he teases.

You close it with a snap and squirm a bit. He's gorgeous to begin with... but this just isn't _fair_. His sharp eyes catch the small movement and he grins. "See something you like?" he purrs. You whimper and nod and he takes off his sunglasses. His warm brown eyes are nearly black with want. "Well, I know I do. But, to be honest, I think your clothes would look better on my bedroom floor," he says.

You stand up and keep your eyes fixed on him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you to say that to me," you tell him.

He crosses the room slowly. "Well then... let's not waste any more time," he murmurs, his lips barely touching yours.

You grab him and pull him to you, your mouths meeting. His tongue brushes along the seam of your lips, and you grant him access. He tastes you, and your hands scrabble slightly on the smooth leather as you try to find purchase on his back; Greg chuckles and starts to guide you to the bedroom. You offer no resistance, and the kiss is broken so he can close the door.

"Now... what did I say about your clothes and my bedroom floor?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Only if you follow suit," you shoot back.

"Deal," he replies, and you both frantically work to remove your clothes. You're distracted as he sits on the bed to remove the biker boots that you somehow managed to miss earlier.

"I take it back... I want to help," you say, and you move over and straddle his hips. You start to slowly slide the leather jacket off his shoulders, gently setting your teeth in the skin of his throat where the collar had rested. He groans and starts eagerly removing your shirt, helping you pull it off over your head and tossing it somewhere behind you. You peel his shirt off as well as he fumbles with your bra, stilling his movements as you grind your hips into his, feeling the bulge of his erection through his tight jeans.

"Bugger it... need you _now_ ," he growls.

You feel the hair on your arms stand as your skin breaks into goose bumps. Quickly, you both work your way out of your jeans and pants, now bare before each other. Your eyes travel over him, taking in his broad shoulders and chest, his narrow hips and his cock straining upwards, slick and hard for you, and he's doing the same thing, his gaze admiring your naked body. When both of you can no longer stand it, you fall upon each other in a tangle of lips, tongues and hands, cupping, stroking, tasting, fondling. He lays you down on the bed, pausing just long enough to roll on a condom. Greg teases you, brushing the tip of him against your folds. You whine and arch up into him, and after a few minutes when he's had enough, he sinks slowly into you with a groan. You gasp; he's thick and hot and just _perfect_ ; you link your ankles around his hips and he growls.

"God, you feel so good around me," he says and he begins to move; slow, deliberate thrusts that just leave you wanting more. You growl and clench your muscles around him, causing to let out a hoarse cry.

"So that's the way you want it?" he murmurs, and he picks up the pace to an almost punishing speed. You drag your fingernails down his back, keening in pleasure as he uses his teeth to make an impressive love bite at your throat. You aren't going to last much longer at this rate, especially when he bends his head and drops his mouth to your breasts, suckling first one nipple and then the other.

"I want you to come for me," he murmurs into your ear, and with that, you tip over the edge. You clench and pulse around his cock, which causes him to thrust deep in you as he finishes, twitching and groaning your name into your skin. You purr in satisfaction as he pulls out and disposes of the condom, then gets back in bed next to you to bask in the afterglow. Now you're awfully glad that you decided to help out...


	36. Let's Go Dancing- John and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes you out on a date when another man starts hitting on you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by consulting-fuckface: John takes reader out to a club and Seb is there and it starts out being an effort to protect reader from Seb but turns to a wonderful threesome okay

" _Let's go dancing_."

Those three words are the whole reason you're stuffed into a handicapped loo stall with two blonde men about to shag your brains out. Your boyfriend is currently sucking on your collarbone while the taller one clad in black is doing something to your mouth with his tongue that has you rubbing your legs together for more friction.

Apparently, he's one of the most dangerous men alive. And he's snogging _you_.

oOoOo

John suggests dancing because it's Friday and neither of you have to be anywhere in the morning (that you know of), and he's the one asking, so you agree. You're pretty much two left feet, but he gives you that smile that makes your chest hum, and you can't say no to that.

The place is loud and dark, full of gyrating bodies and faceless figures; you wonder what John sees as the appeal, but you let him drag you along and into the crush of people on the floor. His hands find your hips, and within seconds you're discovering a John Watson you never knew existed: cheeky, extremely confident, and infinitely sexier and more commanding than you've ever seen him. He's always been the 'boy next door' type, but right now he's grinding against you like your parents are out and he wants to get off with you _now_.

The song fades into another, and John spins you around, his hands roaming up and down your sides as he kisses your back through your blouse. Your groan goes unheard by all but the two of you, and you can feel the smirk of his lips against your body. A few more minutes of this, and the throng of people sweeps you to the side, practically shoving you both off the floor.

You collapse against each other, giggling breathlessly as the high of dancing starts to wear off. "How about... we get... something to drink?" he asks, grinning good naturedly at you.

You nod, still giddy and let him lead you to the bar; you down half your pint before you realize it.

"You've worked up quite the appetite there."

You turn to your left, surprised to hear another man address you when you're clearly here with your boyfriend, but your voice dies when you see the veritable male mountain next to you. He's very fit, muscled, blonde hair curly and untidy, and leaning against the bar with the air or a predator watching its prey: _you_.

"Excuse me, can I help you there, mate?" John leans over, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"I was just saying that the lady had worked up quite an appetite."

"Hold on... _Sebastian?_ "

You see a look of surprise flicker over the blonde's face, your attention drawn to his blue eyes in the darkness of the club. "Then would that be John Watson?"

The ex-army doctor's grip around you tightens. "We were just leaving."

"So soon? You aren't even going to give two army mates a chance to catch up?"

"We've got somewhere we need to be-"

"You always were a crap liar, Watson. Admit it, you just don't want me anywhere near your girlfriend."

"With very good reason, Moran."

You watch the banter, growing more and more interested as John grows more possessive and Sebastian more defiant. "Wait, why don't you want him anywhere near me?"

"He's the most dangerous man you'll ever meet."

"This is true. And you don't have to call me Sebastian. You can say Seb or Sebby. My name tends to be a bit of a mouthful-"

"All right, that's quite enough of chatting up _my_ girlfriend." John stands, pulling you up with him.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Oh come off it, John. You can't admit the idea of sharing another girl doesn't get you the least bit excited."

Your eyes widen and darken at the very mention of being taken by both your boyfriend and Seb. "Can we?" you ask quietly.

"You really don't-"

"No, I think I really do. _John_ ," you murmur, your voice dropping as you press your lips to his ear, "please. Call it a... a fantasy of mine."

You hear him swallow hard, his grip on you loosening slightly.

" _Fine_."

oOoOo

So that brings you to your current position of being kissed by two ex-soldiers in the club loo. Seb has his palms on either side of your face, using his leverage to take exactly what he wants, and John has managed to make a sizeable love bite just above your collar bone. You're a moaning, panting, gasping mess, so aroused you ache. Pulling away from Seb's mouth, you manage to gasp, " _Touch me, please_ ," before he takes your mouth prisoner again.

John drops to his knees, pushing your skirt up and pulling down your knickers. "You're drenched, luv," he growls, leaning forward and lapping at your clit, easing a finger between your folds; your cry of pleasure disappears into Seb's mouth, his tongue everywhere and a low purring rumble in his chest.

Your boyfriend works you slowly at first, just teasing until he can feel how hard you're shaking at which point he slips a second finger into you and moves harder and faster, pumping and curling his fingers and sucking on your clit until you crest, screaming into Sebastian's mouth as you break and sag into his arms. John stands, wiping his mouth and pulling the other man off, kissing you himself. When he breaks away, your lips are red and very swollen, and you can barely breathe. One look at the blondes tells you how aroused they are and how much they want you.

"W-w-well then... d-don't just s-stand there," you whimper.

Seb procures two condoms from his pocket, handing one to John and dropping his trousers and pants. You stare... and stare... and stare. He's huge and thick, weeping as he rolls the protection on and lifts you up, his arms underneath your thighs. "Get ready, John. How hot will you get watching me fuck your girlfriend, hmm?" Sebastian lowers you onto his arousal, pressing you down slowly until he's buried in you, thrusting shallowly until he gets your back against the wall; then, all bets are off.

You can hear John groaning to the side as Seb pounds you against the concrete.  His teeth graze the skin of your neck as he snarls and bites, laving his tongue over the marks and sucking a deep purple bruise to your skin, marking you. You're still tender from your first climax, but he brings you easily to a second, capturing your mouth to muffle the sound... but he doesn't for your third. The second time you come for him drags the hulking blonde with you, hissing your name through gritted teeth as he fills the condom, staggering back and slipping out.

John catches you as you go boneless, pressing gentle, butterfly kisses to your damp skin.

"F-fucking hell, John... she's fantastic..."

"And she's _mine_ , Sebastian. You've had your fun."

"Yes, but you're still aching for her. Not going to deprive you of your turn."

You vaguely hear the smirk in his voice. Struggling to kneel, you face John, forcing your eyes open as you look at him. "Let me help, John." You unbutton his jeans and pull down the zip, freeing him from his pants as you stroke his arousal base to tip a few times. His head falls back, a low moan in his throat at your touch.

After a few minutes of working him into full hardness, you swallow him in a single go, not bothering with buildup; the surprise has him burying his hands in your hair, pulling gently as you suck and lick the hard member in your mouth. He's fairly close already, so a few moments later of hard sucking and working his balls with one hand, he comes with a cry, biting his hand to stifle it as he fills your mouth.

You swallow what you can, wiping your mouth and sitting back with barely enough time to recover before Sebastian descends, kissing you senseless as John gets his breath back.

"Careful there, little girl," he whispers in your ear to let you gasp for air. "I might just steal you away and keep you all for myself."


	37. Lion- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you discover John's tattoo, all bets are off...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Oh, also tattoos and piercings?

You're at a military ball with your boyfriend, John Watson. Although he's not in the army any more, his presence was requested so he put on his dress blues and went. You both had a good time, but frankly, you were glad when it was time for you to leave; there was too much pomp and ceremony, not to mention too much lingo that you didn't understand, and John, ever the gentleman, escorted you back to your flat.

"Care to come in for a nightcap?" you ask. He smiles.

"You know, I think I would," he says. You grin and open the door, allowing him in first. He hangs his coat up as well as yours and you go to pour each of you a glass of red wine.

"I know it's not really a traditional nightcap, but this is a good vint-" you say... as your high heel catches in the rug leading from the kitchen to the living room. You stumble and the contents of the glasses go flying... straight on to John's white shirt. You quickly right yourself, your face burning in embarrassment.

"Oh my _god_! I'm so sorry. Your uniform!! John, quick, get out of that so we can soak it before it stains," you say, helping him out of his jacket. He quickly peels off his shirt and gives it to you as you hurry it over to the sink to let it soak. You sigh in relief as you see the stain start to fade somewhat. "Phew. Well, at least we have that taken care of..." you say, and your voice falters as you turn back to him. He's frowning slightly and drying the wine off of his torso, but that's not what's caught your attention. On his right shoulder, there's a decently sized tattoo: a red lion, jaws opened in a mighty roar. You swallow hard. You've always had a thing for tattoos, and this one most _certainly_ suits John.

He catches the silence and notices you staring at the design. "Ah... er... got this for my dad after he passed... his name was Mark and Saint Mark is usually represented by a lion," he says, running his fingers through his short sandy blonde hair a bit sheepishly. You snap yourself out of your daze and your lips curl into a wicked smirk. You saunter over to him, putting a little extra sway in your hips. He notices, his eyes tracking the movements, growing darker as you get closer.

"Well, well, _well_ , Captain," you purr into his ear. "Never thought you to be one for body art. Tell me... are you a lion in the bedroom as well?" That seems to break his reverie. He growls and crushes you to him, claiming your lips roughly; your tongues twine and your arms wind around his neck as he grasps your hips.

"Why don't we find out," he says, his voice husky.

You guide him to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you went. His shirt and jacket are already gone, leaving you with the most to remove. You start with the shoes that started this beautiful mess to begin with, kicking them off and hearing them clatter against the wall. He helps you by unzipping your dress, taking his time, making you gasp as he lets you feel his fingers trailing along the bare skin that he exposes. You watch as he kicks off his shoes as well, then snicker as he pauses to get rid of his socks. When he straightens, you're all over each other again, your hands at the button and zip of his trousers, undoing them and freeing his erection where it was straining behind his clothes. You grasp it gently but firmly, making him groan against the skin of your shoulder and buck into your hands.

"God... I _need_ you," he rasps. You hum a response and help him slide his trousers and pants down. He fumbles with the clasp of your bra, finally managing to undo it and rip it off of you, flinging it into the corner. The back of your legs hit the bed and you tumble backwards with a small cry, falling onto the mattress. John cages you with his arms, a feral light in his eyes as he drags your knickers off.

"You want to see if I'm a lion in bed? I don't know about a lion, but I'm _certainly_ a beast," he murmurs, the words rumbling in his chest as he says them in your ear. The sheer sound of this has you arching into him. He kisses and bites at your neck as his hands go to your breasts, tweaking and teasing the nipples, making you cry out. His cock is brushing against your wetness, not entering you but teasing you. Your lips find the dark red ink on his skin and you flick your tongue out to taste it, to feel the heat of the color in your mouth. He groans at the touch and turns you over on to your belly.

"Beast _indeed_ ," he hisses as he pulls you up to your hands and knees, the tip of him just stroking you before he plunges into your wetness from behind. John pounds into you in short, hard thrusts, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You arch your back like a cat and make soft little whimpering noises as he moves. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, adding more stimulation that you weren't getting. You give a short cry at the added touch... you know you won't last much longer like this... especially when he leans down and nips at the back of your neck, sinking his teeth into the soft skin there.

"Come for me," he says, his voice breathless. " _Scream my name_." And you do, seizing and pulsing around him, crying his name to the heavens as you fist your hands in the sheets. It isn't too long before he follows, spilling himself into you with a roar worthy of the animal that patterns his skin. He pulls out slowly and you both collapse, breathing hard as you feel his release leak slowly out of you and coat your thighs. You nuzzle into him, nearly purring. He chuckles softly.

"Maybe I should get another tattoo since you seemed so... _fond_ of this one," he says. You laugh... but he might have something there.


	38. Seeing Double- Rich and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had over to Rich's flat, but you don't expect the person you find...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Amy: Something with both Richard Brook and Jim Moriarty? Like, I've read things where they're twins and the idea appealed to me. Maybe they both want 'you' and it ends in a threesome?

You met Richard Brook in an acting class when you were in uni, and the two of you were fast friends. You kept in touch over the years, meeting up every once in a while for a cuppa and a good chat; you were so proud of him when he got the 'StoryTeller' gig, and you bought a copy of it when it came out on DVD. He's invited you over today to his flat to catch up.

You ring the bell and the door swings open. There he is, sitting on the couch. He looks... _different_ , dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, and he looks bored. However, when he catches sight of you, his eyes go light with something that makes you swallow hard and shiver; curiosity... and _hunger_.

"Hullo, Rich! Been ages," you say, grinning. He gets up off the couch and walks over to you, his hands in his pockets. Your grin falters. He's never been this quiet, or quite this intense looking. You back up as he continues to advance, you're vaguely aware when you hit the door.

"R...Rich? Are you trying out for a new part?" you stammer, your heart beating in your throat.

"You could say that," he says, that Irish brogue a low purr that makes your knees weak. There's a sudden clatter that distracts you, and you turn your head to see...Richard? The man in front of you is nearly a carbon copy to the one who just walked in.

"Get away from her!" Rich says, sounding both defensive and exasperated. The man in the suit smirks.

"Really, Richy? You're not going to introduce me to your lovely friend?" he asks. Rich scowls.

"This is my twin brother, James Moriarty. He took our father's name... I kept our mum's," he explains. James grins, the expression sharp.

"But you can call me Jim," he says. Rich pulls him away from you and you can't help but feel a little disappointed, almost. You look at the two men standing side-by-side. They're practically identical; Jim is a little taller and there's something about him that draws you in and makes you want to run at the same time. Rich looks... _gentler_ than his brother, his face more open and kind-looking. Both men are now glaring at each other. You shift slightly and Jim's head snaps towards you. His eyes light up as he seems to realize something.

"Oh... _oh_! Richy, this is her. That girl you were telling me about, the one from your acting class in uni... the one you're head-over-heels for," he says. Rich goes a bright red, as do you. Jim saunters over to you again. "So _you're_ the one who's captured my dear brother's heart. I can certainly see why..." he says. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Close enough to kiss you, which he does, suddenly claiming your lips with his. You make a surprised squeak as he runs a hand through your hair. As quickly as he initiated the kiss, he breaks it and removes his hand, some of your hair still wound around his fingers. You hear a growl, and you turn. Rich is staring daggers at his brother, and this is the first time you've seen him actually angry. Jim gives an amused chuckle.

"Now now, Richy, don't get your pants in a twist because _I_ kissed her first," he says.

Rich marches over and shoves Jim out of the way, kissing you as well. He's not as rough as his brother, sweet to Jim's hot. When he breaks the kiss, you're panting and slightly dizzy. Rich looks at Jim, a challenge in his eyes. Jim raises an eyebrow.

"So competitive, brother. Don't you remember what Mum taught us? We have to _share_ our toys." You swallow hard as twin brown gazes pin you to your place.

They move towards you at the same time, one man to each side of you. Rich starts kissing your neck while Jim whispers in your ear.

"Oh, pretty pet, you're going to be _begging_ by the time we're done with you. Richard may know you better, but I'm a quicker study. Like if I do _this_ ," and he mouths his way over your jaw then comes back up to nip at your earlobe, "let's see what happens." You make a strangled noise in your throat and your eyelids flutter shut. Jim chuckles, a velvet sound. "See? In a few minutes, I'll know you better than you know yourself."

Rich focuses on laving the pulse-point in your neck with his tongue, then decides it's time to raise the stakes and moves a hand up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing gently. You gasp and arch into his touch, barely noticing it when they both start to work you out of your shirt and bra. Your eyes shoot open as you feel two sets of hands on the now-bare skin of your torso, both men working on tweaking and gently pulling on your nipples, bringing them to an aching tightness.

"Kick off your shoes, luv, or else we won't be able to take your jeans off," Rich says, and you get rid of your footwear faster than you thought possible. You can feel both men smiling against your skin as Jim peels off your jeans and knickers at the same time. They draw back to take a look at you. Jim makes an appreciative noise.

"Well, Rich, I know you have good taste, but what I cannot fathom is what took you so long," he says.

"I was just wondering the same thing," Rich agrees. They lead you to the bedroom where both men begin undressing, Rich taking off his t-shirt and Jim shrugging out of his suit jacket. Soon, they're as bare as you are and it's clear to see how much they want you. Jim's cock is slightly longer, but Rich's is thicker; both are hard for you, though, and you can't fight the rush of arousal that heats the space between your thighs and makes your knees weak.

"Looks like she wants us as badly as we want her," Jim says, smirking. Richard nods and gently guides you to the bed, making you lie back on it. He begins kissing your mouth, then slowly works his way lower: down your neck, across your collarbones, pausing to suckle your breasts. He continues down your abdomen until his breath is ruffling the curls that surround your sex. He grins then puts his mouth on you, causing you to make a noise of surprise as you buck upwards; his tongue is clever and you twine your fingers into his hair as he works. You're just about to peak when he moves away, smirking in a manner that is more than eerily similar to his brother's. Speaking of Jim, the other man is staring hungrily at you where you're spread open on the bed, slowly stroking himself.

"Budge over, Richy," he says. He rolls on a condom and takes his brother's place, stroking the tip of his erection along your folds before positioning himself at your entrance. "Do you want this?" he asks, just barely breaching you.

You nearly sob. "Yes," you moan. Jim grins, the expression feral.

" _Good_ ," he purrs, then drives himself in to the hilt with one movement. You're breathless, feeling full as he settles inside you. "Good _God_ ," he moans before dropping his mouth to the skin where your neck and shoulder meet. He starts to move, slow thrusts at first, slightly rolling his hips in small movements. When you snarl and drag your fingernails down his back, it seems to spur his movements. He growls in return and picks up the pace, snapping in rapid-fire thrusts that have you gasping and panting, linking your ankles around his hips as he buries himself inside you.

You moan, not caring if you sound wanton. Jim takes his lips away from your shoulder and turns his head to face his brother.

"How- d'you- like-that,- Richard? I'm- fucking- the-girl- you- _want_ ," he says, driving into you with each word. There's a low rumble from Rich's direction, his teeth bared in a snarl. He literally tears Jim off of you and replaces him, sinking into you. Your eyes roll back in your head; while Jim was good, Richard feels _amazing_.

"Oh... Oh _God_. I've wanted this for _forever_ ," Rich says breathlessly. You nod and clench your muscles around him, causing him to gasp. " _Ah_! Jesusfucking _Christ_ , do that _again_ ," he begs, which you do. He moans low in his throat and begins to move in long, slow thrusts that wind you up tighter. You open your eyes a crack and see Jim, staring at you, his hand working at his cock. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that Rich is in his place. In fact, if you had to hazard a guess, you'd say that Jim likes watching. Rich starts to pick up the pace and you wind your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer. You kiss his neck, gently setting your teeth into the skin there, which makes him emit a strangled cry. After a few more minutes, you shatter finally, your inner muscles rippling and flexing around him. Rich follows shortly afterwards, pulsing and jerking inside you as he spills himself into the condom. Jim lets out a low moan as well as he brings himself to his climax, removing the condom and allowing his release to coat his hand. Rich pulls out of you and nearly collapses beside you on the bed, Jim laying down beside you. You're between the two men, both of them kissing you gently, taking small mouthfuls of your skin. Richard suddenly chuckles.

"What's so funny?" you inquire.

"Consider that just the rehearsal," he says.


	39. Restaurant- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You musn't blow your cover, not even with Mr. Silver Fox, sex-on-legs as your 'date'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This request was one of mine, actually: Lestrade. Something, anything with the man. Would love confident and suave and for him to draw it out.

You're with Greg Lestrade in one of, if not _the_ , fanciest restaurant in the entirety of London. You're here for a mission; supposed kingpin of a drug cartel who likes to live high on the hog is said to frequent here. You adjust your midnight-blue dress and wait for him to show up. And show up he does. In a tuxedo. Your eyes go wide and your mouth rapidly dries up. Good sweet _God_ , that man is sex on legs. He's attractive anyway, in a sort of footballer-type, silver fox manner, but the DI looks absolutely to _die_ for in formalwear. He does a double-take of his own as he sees you in your attire, then a slow smirk rises to his lips. You swallow hard. He does a chivalrous half-bow and takes your hand, pressing a courtly kiss to your knuckles. Oh boy. You can feel your face heat up... as well as other places.

"Hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long, luv," he murmurs in your ear as he places one hand to the small of your back as he gently guides you to the table that's been reserved for 'Mr. Anthony Todd and Wife'. He's the perfect gentleman, pulling out your chair and helping you scoot closer to the table. He orders an appetizer for you both in flawless French, making your eyebrows go up. You never knew that he knew other languages.... and the sound of his smooth voice over the silken language makes you swallow hard. The restaurant is getting increasingly warmer, and you know you can't blame it on the crowds or the lights. The setting is intimate and the lighting is low and hushed. The waiter returns with the food and a candle for the table, 'compliments of the management.' You can barely eat your food, even the main course. You've been sneaking glances at Greg over dinner, unable to keep your eyes off of him for very long. Soon, the meal is done and you excuse yourself to the ladies' room to freshen up, and you spend a longer time than usual in there to compose yourself. You're on a _job_ , you're there to catch the bad guy, not swoon over the gorgeous man in front of you! You're on your way back when you feel his hand on your shoulder.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to. Thought you might have fallen in," he says in your ear, and your hard-won composure is swiftly lost again; you just _can't_ resist that voice.

"No... I'm... I'm fine," you say, your own voice wavering a bit. He lets out a chuckle, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck, causing you to break out into goose bumps.

"Well, I've settled the bill. Let's go get our coats and we'll be off. Tip was false... our target never showed," he says. His hand is in the small of your back again, guiding you to the coatroom. As soon as the door clicks behind you, though, you turn to face him. You've caught him in the middle of a once-over of your body, and you smirk.

"Well well, Greg... like what you see?" you ask, surprised at your own boldness. His eyes go dark and he nearly growls.

"You have _no_ idea," he says, backing you up into the wall. Your bodies are pressed tightly together, and there's no mistaking just _how_ much he likes your outfit... and what's under it.

" _God_ , Greg..." you gasp out, arching into him.

He groans. "I _want_ you..." He presses his lips to your neck, his hands moving under the hem of your dress to caress the flesh of your legs, hooking one around his waist.

"I've been wanting to do this all night," he says, his voice hoarse. You squirm against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your fingers into his silver hair. He moves his fingers down to your sex and pushes aside your panties, feeling just how wet you are. "And... from the way you feel, you've been wanting this too. So _naughty_ ," he purrs. You gasp. Oooh, that _voice_.

"Yesss... I want you Greg... I want you _now_ ," you hiss. He pauses and you can almost feel the shudder that goes through him.

"What milady wants, milady shall _get_ ," he says, his voice low and rough. You can hear the rasp of the zipper as he frees his cock from the confines of his trousers and brushes it against you. You let out a soft cry, and he puts a hand over your mouth.

"Shhh, luv. Can't blow our _cover_ , now can we?" he says. You shake your head, arching into him as he slowly slides into you. He hisses through his teeth.

"God, you're so hot and _tight_ , like a silken vise," he pants as he starts to rock into you, long smooth thrusts that drive you crazy. You grind against him, moving your hips in counterpoint to his. He removes his hand from your mouth in favor of grasping your hips as he moves faster, pounding into you. Sweat begins to bead on your brow as well as his in the closeness of the room, and you can feel him beginning to twitch inside of you just as you can feel yourself begin to spasm. With a snap of his hips, he buries himself into you to the hilt, coming with a groan of your name as you shatter around him with a breathless gasp. He slides out of you and you both adjust yourselves, quickly getting your coats and exiting the restaurant to questioning looks from the maitre-d.


	40. Like My Knickers?- Greg and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes is a gust of wind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by steph: I do hope you would do Lestrade+Narator+Sherlock with super sexy lingerie (complete with stocking and garter) because in my imagination these boys got a bit of stocking kink, umm dirty talk can be added too, as the boy's appreciation towards the lingerie, maybe?

You're doing an internship at Scotland Yard for uni. The work is... less than glamorous: a lot of fetching and carrying, getting coffee and filling out paperwork. You can't say that you mind, though. After all, it's great experience, and... you have to admit, there are a _lot_ of attractive men who work with the Met. For instance, one DI Greg Lestrade and the man that regularly helps him out with particularly tough cases; Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. The three of you are out on a quick walk back from the local coffee shop (Sherlock is picky about the coffee at the station and flatly refuses to drink or even _touch_ anything that has been made by Anderson. You can see why, though... he creeps you out). Both men have their drinks in hand, and you're slightly ahead of them, grumbling about how of course _today_ is the day you want to break in those new heels. You sigh, then a particularly strong gust of autumn wind comes by and tugs at the hem of your attractive (yet practical!) dress, lifting it high before you can get a grip on it. Your face burns crimson; you're almost positive that both men behind you got an eyeful of not only your stockings and garters, but your knickers as well. You turn to face them.

"I'm _so_ sorry," you start to say... but you stop your apology dead. Both of them are looking at you; Greg's brown eyes are nearly glazed over and Sherlock's ice blue ones are gleaming with an almost predatory light.

"Back to my office," Greg says. You can't help but shiver. His voice has dropped a bit, become huskier.

"I do agree, Lestrade," Sherlock adds. You swallow. His voice is huskier too, almost a growl in his chest. They quickly walk back and escort you to Greg's private office, close the door behind them and lock it. Their drinks are forgotten, set aside to grow cold. Your eyes flick back and forth between them; they haven't stopped staring and you're starting to feel a little nervous. Greg notices your apprehension and he sets about to putting you at ease. What he says, though, just keys you up even more.

"God... I... I've wanted you since the day you walked in here, but _this_ was the icing on the cake," he said, his eyes quickly settling on your legs before going back to meet yours. You flush brightly. _The stockings and garters_. Sherlock makes a noise of agreement.

"While I can't say that I've had my eye on you as long as Lestrade here... I must say that you are quickly proving to be a puzzle I am... most _eager_ to solve," he murmurs. You shift, heat suddenly flaring between your legs. Two of the most attractive men you've ever seen have both just admitted to wanting you. _Badly_. You take a deep breath. The vixen in you comes out to play, and you smirk at them both.

"I'm flattered, gents. I really am. So... the question becomes this: who's first?"

The men quietly war with each other, wearing matching scowls as they glare. Sherlock, surprisingly, concedes. Greg grins and walks up to you, placing one hand at your waist, the other one cupping your face.

"You look amazing. And I didn't need a well-timed gust of wind to tell me that," he murmurs before he dips his head and claims your mouth. His lips are warm and soft and you reciprocate eagerly, your tongues darting out to twine with each other. He tastes like tea: strongly brewed Earl Gray. You moan into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck. He shudders and pulls you flush against him, allowing you to feel the bulge of his erection through his trousers. You arch into him and make him gasp.

"So that's how you like it, hm?" he breathes in your ear. He trails one hand down to lift the hem of your dress again, his fingers ghosting along the bare skin of your thigh, causing your breath to hitch. He chuckles and then moans as he pushes your knickers aside and reaches your womanhood; already hot and ready for him. He slides first one, then two fingers inside of you, causing you to clutch harder at him. He abandons your mouth to kiss his way down your neck as he begins to pump his fingers in and out. You squeak as his thumb finds your clit, then you're rocking against his hand, moaning wantonly. Greg _growls_.

"Ohhh, I think you're _more_ than ready for me," he says. You can't do anything more than nod in agreement as he removes his fingers from you and brings his hand down to his own zipper, tugging it down and releasing his straining cock from the confines of his trousers. He shoves your knickers aside and sinks into you with a hiss. "God, you're so hot and so _tight_."

Greg thrusts in and out of you, hooking one of your legs around his waist to get better leverage. His cock is thick and you can't help but moan. He's grunting as he works into you, and all too soon you can feel yourself reaching the edge. After a particularly good thrust, you come, shattering around him as you cry out his name and buck frantically. He's not too far behind, emptying himself into a condom with a strangled noise. He withdraws, panting hard, as he disposes of the contraceptive and tucks himself back into his trousers. Sherlock was watching fascinated.

"My turn now," he said, his voice low and rich. You smile at him as he walks toward you. No... walks isn't an accurate word. _Stalks_ is more like it. Sherlock has always put you in mind of some huge predatory animal, and right now he's looking at you like you're the prey he wants. You retreat as he advances, and soon you find your back to the wall with him pinning you with his eyes and his body. He scans you up and down.

"Pupils dilated and lips swollen. Pulse undoubtedly rapid..." then he does something that surprises you and drops his head to your shoulder, burying his face into your neck. "And you smell _divine_ ," he rumbles. Your legs, already wobbly from Greg, go weak and the wall becomes the only thing holding you upright. Sherlock's large, clever hands begin to roam, tracing the curves of your waist and hips, ghosting over your breasts and tweaking the hard nipples through the cups of your bra. You gasp at this, and arch into his touch. He smirks and presses right back into you. You can feel his erection as well, hard as a rock.

"Normally, I wouldn't do this... but there's nothing wrong with indulging every once in a while," he says as he goes to unzip himself. You help him and find your hands full. Sherlock is _big_. You bite your lip as heat rushes between your legs again, as you think about just how much he'll fill you, and fill you he does, finding your entrance and slowly sliding in. You gasp and cry out. Sherlock follows Greg's example and hooks one of your legs around his hips. He begins to move in small, circling motions that are nice, but don't add much stimulation. You're about to growl in frustration when he seems to realize that _you_ need pleasure as well. He picks up the pace, almost snapping his hips as he thrusts into you. He's completely focused and you come for a second time, screaming his name as he grasps your hips and begins pounding into you at an almost breakneck speed. When he slows, you can feel him twitching inside you. He comes with a groan of your name, the sound so deep you can almost _feel_ it instead of hearing it; he pulls out and disposes of the condom as well, leaving you to clean yourself up. You stagger slightly as your mental and physical faculties come back to you.  You definitely need to wear this dress more often... and hope that it's windy out when you do.


	41. How Many?- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your Dom, Jim, certainly enjoys 'toying' with you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Shica: Other request would be multiple orgasms, but like multiple, multiple orgasms. So many and so good that she doesn't know if she wants just another one or just want him (them?) to stop.

You've been Jim Moriarty's pet for two months now, and you've never had this much sex and pleasure/pain and activities just this side of torture in your life. He texts you at the most random of times, picking you up off the street as often as anything. He's had you tied up in a variety of positions, cropped you until you're bright red and begging for him to finish you, and he can even make you last upwards of an entire hour before letting you come. So today, you haven't the foggiest what is in store for you when he pulls up to the curb and opens the door. You climb in, shutting it and facing the consulting criminal. "Good evening, sir."

"Kneel, pet."

You're still not used to everything, and kneeling on a cushion by his feet is certainly one of the things that is strangest. Obediently, you sink to the ground and kneel, Jim threading his hand absently through your hair. "You're learning well. I think tonight will work out just perfectly."

Shivering at his voice, the silken Irish brogue washes over you as the car winds through the London streets. As it starts to slow, Jim reaches into his pocket and pulls out your collar. You only ever wear it during your time with him. It's black and deceptively simple, the letters 'JM' woven in silver on it. Fastening it around your neck, the consulting criminal opens the door and leads you up to his penthouse.

"My room. Strip and on the bed."

You obey, walking through to his room and removing your clothes before laying back on the bed. He enters a few moments later with a towel and a box under his arm. "Put this under your arse. I don't want you staining my duvet today, pet."

Catching the towel, you slide it under you and flatten it out before spreading your legs and arms. Jim sets the box down and binds you to the bedposts. "Now, my lovely pet, tonight I want to run a little experiment. Care to help?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful!" Out of the box he pulls several vibrators of different sizes, makes, and textures. "I've been curious for the past few weeks of your tolerance and ability to hold up under duress. And by that, of course, I mean how many times you can climax in a single session."

Your eyes widen as your breathing shallows, his words sending a flare of heat between your legs. He kneels before you, picking up a small one that fits easily in his hand. "I thought we would start off simple, work you up to the others... or not. You look ready to swallow what I give you. Perhaps," he selects a thick blue one, "we'll just go for two from the top."

Flicking on the two toys, Jim presses the larger blue one against your folds and lowers the smaller one to your clit. You gasp, rocking away from the touch as best you can.

"Ohhhh nonono, can't have that, pet." Jim presses the blue toy deeper in, turning it up until the vibrations can be felt in your fingertips. You whimper, twisting as he leaves it and focuses all his attention on your clit with the smaller vibrator.

"Ahhhh!! M-Master... sir... p-please..."

"Please what, pet," he smirks, his movements combined with the toy prompting you to pull hard against your restraints. "Begging for mercy so soon into our playtime? That really won't do, you know." The smaller one is suddenly moving much faster, pulling an orgasm from you before you realize quite what has happened.

Jim doesn't slow down. He continues working your overly-sensitive clit with one hand and begins to thrust the other vibrator in and out of you, twisting as he goes; there are little raised sections that rub and almost tickle, and in less than a minute, he has you balanced on the edge of another climax. Your face is screwed up in pain at the denial of your release, a stream of begging pouring from your lips, most of which you aren't even sure is English.

"Look at me when you come for me, pet."

Your eyes widen to meet his gaze, and true to his word, he lets you go; you come in a blaze of light, screaming his name. The climax has you gasping for breath, and you aren't sure if you're sorry or relieved when he turns off the toys and sets them aside. "Are... are we done?"

He gives you a look that clearly means you are a moron. "So tired already, my pet? Have you forgotten all your training already?" The next accessory is one he slips on his finger before turning it on and plunging it into you without warning. The combined sensation of him fingering you and the little rubber nubs on the toy stroking you have you sobbing for more. "Use your _words_ , pet."

"M-more... sir... p-please... I need your _tongue_."

Jim's expression darkens and he growls. "Since you asked so _nicely_..." He lowers his mouth to your clit, teasing it with his very insincere tongue. His fingers speed up and you crest, tears leaking from your eyes... but he doesn't stop. He sucks the bud into his mouth and works it over thoroughly with his tongue and teeth as he adds two more fingers to you and you come again a minute later.

He pulls out and away, setting aside the little finger attachment and pulling out the final toy: a rabbit. Your eyes widen and a whimper escapes you; it only serves to make him smirk.

"What, don't you like my toys? You've already had four marvelous orgasms, but you're holding out on me... and this is just the warm up."

 _Just the warm up?!!_ You barely have time to prepare yourself before he's slipped the shaft into you and rested the little 'ear' attachment against your clit and turns it on. You've only ever heard of this one before, but it turns out that he has a little remote control to monitor the speed and the special features. Somehow, that doesn't stop you from keening when the shaft begins to rotate in you.

The criminal keeps the 'ears' on a very slow speed to start, but he soon grows bored and begins playing with the settings, turning them up faster before dropping it down to barely anything; he's toying with you, but you know you have a fifth on the way. After five minutes of agonizing, blissful torture, the vibrations jump and you scream, arching and twisting against the restraints... and then he leaves the toy there and gets up, walking away.

"Wh-where are you -ah!- going?!"

"You can take care of yourself now, can't you?"

You very nearly start sobbing in frustration as another orgasm burns through you.

" _Six_. Well, well, aren't we eager to please. Do you have one more for me, my pet?"

"Y-y-YES!!!" The seventh one is almost more pain than pleasure, and as you start to come back into your body, you're begging in a whisper. "P-please... let me rest... master..."

He's at you in a second, the toy off and with the other used ones. Jim unties you and lets you rest fully on the mattress before kissing you hungrily, his tongue greedy and demanding. You're nearly asleep when he leans in and whispers in your ear.

"I bet you have eight in you, pet. Care to try with my length this time?"


	42. No Contest- Lestrade, Molly, John, and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner turns into a full on oral event? You should invite Lestrade and Molly over more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Cheryl: Daisy chain with Lestrade, Molly, John, Sherlock, Narrator
> 
> I only hope I've done it justice

Much to your surprise, John and Sherlock have invited Molly and Greg over for dinner at Baker Street. The detective refuses to talk about it, grumbling and shooting daggers at John whenever it's brought up, but the doctor just smiles warmly and makes another cup of tea... and Sherlock always drinks it.

The couple arrives punctually, Greg in a nice shirt and tie, Molly in a _really_ cute dress that you're dying to try on. The kitchen table has been cleared of experiments for the night (you still aren't sure how John bribed Sherlock for that one), the places are set, and the Chinese takeaway smells divine. Well? There isn't a single piece of usable crockery in the place and Mrs. Hudson is out of town; you know for a fact that she'll kill Sherlock if he takes her things, and the boys have been on a case for a week. It was up to you, and you picked Chinese. Besides, Greg's buying even if he doesn't know it.

oOoOo

Everything is going perfectly fine until Sherlock, as always, makes some comment about Greg and Molly's sex life. You could kick him if only your legs reached all the way over. The pathologist is blushing the same shade as her lipstick, and Lestrade looks like he might pull his handgun. "Now, now, gents," John starts, "let's not overreact. Greg, I'm sure Sherlock didn't mean-"

"You know full bloody well that he means everything he says, John. Stop defending him."

"Fine. Sherlock, apologize. That was out of line."

"What?! All I did was say that they'd had a quickie before coming over and Molly wasn't completely satisfied by it and that Greg needs to work on his oral technique and I'm much better than he is-"

"SHERLOCK!"

Everyone stares at you as you slam the table, nearly spilling your water in your lap. "If you're _so_ bloody sure of yourself, then why don't you prove it?"

The words barely leave your mouth before you realize you've said them out loud and can't take them back. Everyone at that table, save for Sherlock, is blushing. _He_ looks like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Care to make this a group event?"

oOoOo

So, that's how you're here, on the floor with your skirt hiked up around your waist and the detective's mouth on you.

Once Sherlock replies, the table erupts, the men yelling until Molly backs you up. She is clearly embarrassed and going out with Greg, but you know she still has a huge crush on Sherlock, and once he has her support for the harebrained scheme, John and Greg reluctantly give in. You all gather in the living room, unsure of how to begin, so, just to make Sherlock jealous, you yank John close and kiss him hard, claiming his mouth for all of ten seconds before the younger Holmes has you backed against the wall. The detective manages to pry the ex-soldier away from you and seizes your mouth himself, yanking you to the floor. He pushes up your skirt and stares, smirking.

Molly taps him on the shoulder and whispers in his ear; you have no idea until you see how his eyes light up and he announces to the room, "Trousers off and skirts up. We're all getting some oral tonight."

John catches on first, blushing but stripping off his jeans and pants. Greg takes longer to come around, but Molly convinces him. It's amazing what a hard snog and a good grope will do. Moments later, you're all stretched out on the floor: you have John in your mouth, Sherlock is working on you, Molly has managed to get Sherlock, and Greg is taking care of both Molly and himself.

The doctor's length is hot, heavy, and thick in your mouth as you moan and suckle, gasping and squirming as Sherlock works on you, his groans sending vibrations straight through your clit. You're vaguely aware of the noises coming from Molly and Greg, through they soon grow louder as Molly comes first, crying and twisting in her boyfriend's grip. Surprisingly, she pulls Sherlock over with her, his cock slipping from her mouth as it goes soft. Just moments later, Greg has her against the wall and is slamming her into the wood while he sucks a hickey on her neck.

The detective brings your attention back by slipping two fingers into you and sucking hard on your clit, nearly causing you to bite down on John. He senses this and pulls out of your mouth, swooping down to kiss you instead. His tongue fucking your mouth and Sherlock's tongue and fingers teasing and pulling and twisting and pinching have you cresting in no time. Only then does John pull your head into his lap while you finish him off, swallowing him down into the back of your throat until he comes hard with a groan.

You collapse, gasping just in time to heard Greg and Molly finish, the Pathologist screaming her second climax into the DI's mouth. He looks mightily pleased with himself as he sets her down and tucks himself back in his pants and trousers.

"So, Sherlock? Poor technique, eh?"

The detective barely gives him a second glance, already repossessing the table with his microscope.


	43. Bedroom, Tiger- Seb and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You knew Seb would keep his promise. It's all you've thought about...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Ladycorvidae: Now you have to do one of Seb borrowing the narrator from John and sharing her with Jim, continued from the chapter 'Let's Go Dancing'

Sebastian's words have haunted your mind since the night at the club with him and John barely two weeks ago. You can't stop thinking about the blonde, so when we walks up beside you on the street and takes your hand, you still jump, about to pull away until you see who it is. "H-hello."

"No need to be shy, pet," he murmured, his blue eyes staring into you. Your knees go weak as you struggle to string two coherent words together. "I did warn you I might steal you away, and I have a free evening and someone who is dying to meet you. Would you like to come?"

Your brain screams yes as heat flares between your legs. He smirks, clearly very aware of the double entendre in his words. A car pulls up and he ushers you inside.

oOoOo

You get a sudden pang of guilt a few minutes into the car ride, feeling very disloyal to your boyfriend. He's the one you're in love with, but now you're heading into a clearly sexual setting, and you feel like you're cheating. You're not a cheater. Sebastian seems to pick up on your thoughts and he takes your hand in his rough, callused one.

"Stop thinking so much. You've already slept with me, and two men does seem to be your fantasy. At least, it was last time. And I want you to enjoy yourself. _Live a little_. Might I offer you some wine?"

He's putting on his best manners for you, and you accept a small glass, draining it when the car pulls to a stop. One rather long elevator ride later, you follow him into the penthouse apartment, and you gasp. The place is huge and posh, simply decorated yet clearly worth millions and millions of pounds. You've barely been staring for ten seconds when a man about a head shorter than Seb comes around the corner.

"Is this the girl you've been telling me about?"

 _Ohfuck_. His voice is an Irish brogue and smooth as sin, a smirk playing at his lips as he walks up to you. "I'm Jim," he says, eyeing you up and down. "Well?" he says to Sebby. "What are you waiting for? I've been expecting you. _Bedroom_ , Tiger."

It takes all of your concentration to put one foot in front of the other while you follow Seb into the room. The color scheme is black with splashes of white and red: carnal, arousing. You jump to feel Seb's hands at your waist and hear the door shut and lock.

"Come on Tiger. Do I have to do everything?"

Sighing, Seb shakes his head and strips you, letting Jim get a good long look as you stand there, fidgeting slightly and feeling self conscious. Apparently, the pale man likes what he sees. "Go lie down on the bed, my pet. We'll join you soon enough. Oh, and don't touch yourself."

You bite your lip and obey, lying down and sinking into the mattress as the men strip and speak in hushed tones. Secretly, you're admiring their bodies, Seb's tanned skin and rippling muscles, Jim's pale skin and wiry frame. When they seem to reach an agreement and neither one is left in any clothing whatsoever, they turn to you, smiling rather hungrily. Jim crawls up your body and Seb sits to your side, his fingertips tracing along the skin of your arm. You grow warm, blushing as these two men center every last drop of their attention on you.

"Well then, pet," Jim whispers in your ear, "I'm eager to see what you can do."

The next thing you know, he is kissing you. His lips and tongue are clever, outmatching you in every way and completely distracting you from the hand sneaking down to run along your sex. His finger slips inside of you, drawing a gasp from your chest and a chuckle from his, He curls the digit and grins, sliding down your body himself to let Seb have access to your breasts. The Tiger growls as he latches on to one nipple at a time, sucking and nibbling and teasing them into full hardness while Jim does the same to your clit. Your orgasm hits without warning, leaving you boneless on the bed, but the dark-haired man simply smiles and holds out his hand for Seb to give him a condom; the blonde is already wearing one.

"That was just the warm-up, pet."

When he kisses you again, you can taste yourself, his tongue once more distracting you as something much larger than his fingers sheathes itself in your heat. He rocks a few times to get settled before snapping his hips. You hear Sebastian groan to your side, but Jim brings all the focus back to him. His lips are everywhere on your face and neck, his tongue smooth and teasing against your skin. You heard the headboard hit the wall with every thrust, and he's now sucking a bruise to your throat. Seb's fingers have found your nipples again, and you come for a second time, screaming and sobbing as Jim keeps going until he comes, hissing and snarling your name as he collapses.

Sebastian nearly throws the man across the room before lifting you up and setting you down on his cock; if anything, it's even larger and thicker than you remember. Your sex is aching, your body trembling, but Seb holds you in place above him and thrusts up, slamming into you before he helps you bounce on his lap, bringing you down to meet him. Jim's lips find the back of your neck and his hands work into your scalp. Their combined efforts... well, you nearly black out.

The next thing you're aware of is trading lazy, post-coital kisses with both men, each one clearly happy to take turns with your mouth while they stroke your hair and your body.


	44. BONUS CHAPTER 1: Out of the Rain- Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absofuckinglutely drenched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were trying something new when we wrote the bonus chapters. This one is pure fluff and belongs to ladycorvidae.

You shiver in the bitter cold as the rain stings your face. Of _course_ you'd run out of money for a cab. Of _course_ you'd be eight blocks away from Seb's apartment. Of _course_ it would start pouring as soon as you set foot outside. And... the icing on the cake, of _course_ you'd forget your umbrella.

You're soaked to the skin by the time you reach the flat and you knock on the door, feeling miserable. He opens it, frowning, then his expression turns to one of affectionate concern.

"Sweetheart, why the hell are you standing drenched on the doorstep! Come in, come in!" he says and ushers you inside. You're fairly certain you can wring at least three full cups of water out of your hair and clothes. Your teeth begin to chatter as the cold starts to sink in, bone-deep.

"C'mon, let's get you out of those wet things," he says.

You nod and he ushers you into the very posh bathroom with a deep bathtub. Seb's employer is out of town for a long time, so he called you up to have some company; the last thing you wanted was for him to waste his time caring for you. You wait for him to leave before you start peeling your way out of the clothes that have stuck to you like tissue paper before running the water, almost as hot as you can stand it. You settle into it as it fills up, allowing the water to warm you back up even as you shake. Finally, the tremors begin to subside and you hear a knock on the door.

"I've got some things for you to wear while your clothes dry," he calls through the wood. You call back an 'ok' and he comes in, eyes carefully avoiding your body as you keep your knees to your chest to prevent him from getting an eyeful. He deposits a fluffy towel as well as what looks to be a pair of his sweatpants and one of his shirts on the closed lid of the toilet before walking out, again, his eyes never straying from the path in front of him. You soak for a few more minutes before you drain the tub and get out, drying yourself off before slipping into the clothes that he gave you. You pad into the kitchen, where he's standing with his back to you. You wrap your arms around his middle and press your head against his back. You can feel him tense before he stirs and turns to face you, a faint smile playing about his lips as he returns your embrace.

You sigh as you rest your head on Seb's broad, warm chest. He puts his chin on the top of your head and gently rubs your back with his large, rough hands.

"Feeling better?" he asks, his low voice rumbling through his chest and into you. You nod and burrow closer to him, as if to soak up more of his body heat. He chuckles again, and you smile. "You look like a doll in my clothes. They're too big on you," he says. You nod again and laugh a little yourself; his shirt is almost like a dress on you, and the hem of his sweatpants cover your feet. "C'mon love... I have some popcorn in the microwave and we can sit on the couch and watch a film. What d'you say to that?" he asks, his bright blue eyes peering into yours. You smile.

"That would be wonderful," you say. "Do you have any idea what you want to watch?" Seb shrugs.

"I'm game for whatever. I draw the line at chick flicks and horror, though," he states, pulling a face. You make one too. Neither of you can stand chick flicks, and (what you find hilarious) both of you are total wimps when it comes to horror.

"Action, fantasy, sci-fi or comedy it is, then!" you chirp happily. He grins fondly at you and ruffles a large hand through your damp hair. You mosey your way over to the impressive entertainment system and begin to peruse the DVD selection.

"AHA!!! I have it!" you cry, triumphantly holding a film aloft. An absolute sci-fi classic, 'Blade Runner'... one of your favorites. Seb smiles.

"Haven't seen that one in ages! Good pick," he comments as he flops on the couch, large bowl of popcorn in hand. You pop the disc into the player and join him, your head pillowed on his shoulder. He wraps an arm in the neutral area between your waist and hip, pulling you closer. Both of you watch as the movie unfolds, munching on popcorn.


	45. Not Like Other Girls- Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes. Shopping. Sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: "i'd like to see them go for a fat girl and really try to make her feel unselfconcious with lots of sexytiems."
> 
> This one really hits home for both of us

You're out clothes shopping. You sigh and scowl as you return another thing to the 'No Way in Hell' pile that is steadily growing. You hate doing this, hate it with a passion. You're a bigger girl: tall, full figured, endowed with generous breasts and ample hips and thighs and rear. You've never been anywhere close to the definition of 'skinny' and clothes shopping always brings this fact screaming into your face. You swallow hard, fighting frustrated tears. This never fails to take your already low self-esteem and kick it down an oubliette for a good, long stay.

You trudge out of the dressing room to put back the pile of clothes that were too tight, too short, or just looked stupid on you. After you purchase what you _did_ manage to find, you make your way out of the store to go back home, put on some sweatpants and curl up under the blankets with a book. You're so done with this day, it isn't funny. On your way out, though, you manage to run full-tilt into someone else, sending your bags flying.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you apologize. As if this day couldn't get any worse. Then you see just _who_ you ran into and your red face gets redder. You've pretty much slammed into a living Greek statue. He's tall, at least six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and muscled, his golden curls hanging over into the brightest blue eyes you've ever seen. You go to get your bags and disappear before he can say anything, like "Watch where you're going, fatass." Imagine your surprise when he not only helps you, but you catch him checking you out. Or, at least, that's what it looks like. But you must be deluded; no way he would go for someone like you.

"Thank you..." you murmur as he hands you the last of it.

He grins, and your heart flutters. "No worries, gorgeous," he says, and you melt a little, blushing so hard that you feel like you could spontaneously combust. He chuckles. "If you get any redder, I think I'd be forced to dump you into the fountain," he gently teases. You giggle nervously; it would be your luck to wear a white shirt today. He seems to notice this and bends to murmur in your ear, his voice a low rumble that makes your heart jump into your throat. "And such a lovely sight _that_ would be."

"Sebastian," he says, holding out his hand. You take it and manage to stutter out your name. His hands are large and warm, rough as well from whatever work he does. Your thoughts immediately dive into the gutter and you imagine what those hands would feel like roaming on your bare skin. You swallow hard and try to ignore the fact that your heartbeat has just jumped through the roof. He doesn't let go of your hand when the handshake is over, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles instead. "I was wondering, and... I know I'm being forward and you have every right to slap me, but... do you want to come back to my place?" he asks.

Your eyes go wide. The angel on your shoulder is screaming at you, about how he's probably a murderer, a rapist, some sort of deviant, that you don't know him or what he does. The devil on the other one is cheering you on, telling you to go for it, that you'll never have this chance again. Just as your shoulder-angel is about to protest, the devil hogties and gags it into submission.

"Yeah... yeah, I'd like that," you say, your lips curving into a smile. He looks surprised for a moment, like he never expected you to agree. Then his eyes light up and he smiles in such a way that causes your knees to go suddenly weak.

"Well then... off we go," he says, putting one hand in the small of your back and guiding you to his car. The drive to his flat is quick and he tells you to leave your purchases there. You follow him, and find a mid-sized but comfortably furnished place. As you admire it, you hear the door close behind you, and the latch clicks home. He's at your back, his hands settling on your hips as he presses his lips to your hair. You feel goose bumps rise on your body at his touch. You turn to face him and his eyes search your features for a long moment before he leans in and gently kisses you. Your breath leaves you in a rush and you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes some sort of rumbling noise in his chest and it causes a frisson of feeling to run up your spine. He deepens the kiss, his tongue asking for entry into your mouth. You allow it and they twine together. He tastes of mint and a hint of tobacco. He gently sets his teeth in your lower lip and you gasp. When he pulls away, his eyes are darker and you can feel a bulge beginning to press insistently against your lower belly. Clearly he's turned on something awful, as are you.

"Bedroom?" he murmurs hoarsely, half angling you both in that direction. You nod, and he leads the way once more.

Once you reach the room, he claims your mouth again, a bit rougher this time. You arch into him and wind your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly. He really does growl this time. He moves away slightly to start removing both yours and his clothing and once you're down to your bra and knickers, your self-consciousness decides to come back full force. Especially when you strip away these last two remaining barriers of cloth. You cover yourself, your face burning with embarrassment.

"Don't hide, love," he says, trying to move your arms aside, but you clamp them tighter to you.

"I'm... I'm not skinny or... or pretty, like other girls," you manage to say, the words like thorns on your tongue. He looks pissed off.

"If I wanted another girl, I'd have one. But I want _you_. Look at you... those _curves_. They'd stop a clock dead, and I know what they do to me. You can see that," he says, smirking a bit as he gestures to the impressive tent in his trousers. You're still unconvinced, but you're no longer covering your nakedness with a death grip. He gently moves your arms aside and runs his hands down the bare skin of your torso, and oh... his hands are just the way you imagined. He makes a low purring sound, especially as he moves up to cup your breasts, his thumbs and forefingers teasing your nipples. Your breath clogs in your throat and your eyes flutter shut, especially as he sets his lips to your neck and begins to kiss his way down your throat.

Even as your brain starts to short out with all the sensation that's running through it, you have enough presence of mind to start tugging at his shirt and then his trousers. He chuckles and moves away to strip. You eye him appreciatively; your thought about him being a Greek statue isn't too far from the mark. He's all chiseled muscle and smooth skin, practically perfect, all the way down to his thoroughly impressive cock. You stare... and you can't _stop_ staring. He's enormous, and you're suddenly worried that he's not going to be able to fit all the way inside of you.

"I'm sure you can manage," he whispers into your ear, grinding against you. You gasp and reciprocate, your body now on auto-pilot. He groans when you start kissing and nipping your way along his shoulder. He guides you to the bed and lays you down on it, hovering over you, caging your body with his. Sebastian kisses his way across your collarbones, then down to suckle at your breasts. He gently tugs your nipple between his teeth, making you keen and arch beneath him as he moves away and repeats the act with its twin. He kisses and nips his way down your stomach, all the way down to the nest of dark curls between your legs. He buries his face there, licking along your sex with a wickedly clever tongue, doing things that make you fist your hands into the sheets and almost scream. When you're so close to coming you can almost taste it, he moves away. You whine in protest and he smirks, wiping his face clean of your juices.

"Please... _please_. I need you," you gasp. He laughs softly and rolls on a condom before teasing you with the head of his cock, just barely sliding it inside of you. When it finally becomes too much for him, he sinks into you. His eyes roll back in his head and he moans gutturally as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. After a moment of adjusting (because holy hell, _big_ doesn't even begin to cover it), he starts to move. Small circles with his hips, barely withdrawing before moving back in. Then he starts making long, even thrusts. You rock against him, reciprocating his movements, falling into his rhythm. He's driving into you hard now, pounding little gasps and whimpers out of your throat as he fucks you into the mattress.

"Oh- yes... so- fucking- _good_ ," he grunts. You keen in response, feeling yourself beginning to fall over the edge. A few more minutes of thrusting and you're gone as he claims your mouth again, shattering and clenching around him, your cries lost as he kisses you senseless. You feel him swell and twitch inside of you, and then he groans your name, the sound so deep you can more feel it than hear it. He comes into the condom, great spurts of semen that you can feel despite the barrier. He snaps his hips erratically as he rides out his orgasm, hitting that spot deep inside you that sets you off again. You scream his name and rake your fingernails down his back as you come. When he finally slides out of you, the both of you panting hard, Seb is smiling like the cat who got into the cream. You smile back as he pulls you to him, cuddling into his warmth. You guess you could get used to the idea of clothes shopping if things like this were going to happen...


	46. BONUS CHAPTER 2: Peaches- Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're happily cutting up peaches in the kitchen and belting your favorite songs when your boyfriend gets home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this one really deviates in that we were super inspired by http://headfullofcatsandsmut.tumblr.com/ and her work. We also had just seen the clip of Benny singing in 'Parade's End'. FLUFF!

It's high summer and you're standing at the kitchen sink in your flat, cutting peaches in half and peeling them, then slicing them up. Your hands are covered in juice, and you're eating almost as many as you're putting in the large ceramic bowl that rests on the counter to your right. You're singing aloud at the top of your lungs, some of your favorite songs that get stuck in your head: show tunes, pop hits, things your parents sang you when you were little. Your voice echoes loudly in the emptiness; Ben is away on a film shoot, although he said it wouldn't be a long one today, something about just a short speaking part he had to touch up on. The late afternoon sun streams in through the windows as you sway back and forth, getting lost in the music that spills from your lips. You're so caught up in your own little world that you don't hear Benedict come in until he's right behind you, pressing his chest into your back as he sings along in his rich baritone, causing you to jump and gasp. You set the knife down.

"You _scared_ me!" you laugh, half-breathless from the surprise. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners and he laughs.

"Not my fault you weren't paying attention," he said. You playfully poke your tongue out at him and he smirks back at you, raising an eyebrow. You swallow... you know that look.

"Tempting me, are you?" he says. You smirk back.

"It was not my intention, but... bonus points to me if you are," you say. He makes a non-committal hum and dips his head, just barely brushing his lips against yours. "Hold on, I need to wash my hands. Don't want to get peach juice all over you," you say, half-turning so you can reach the faucet and rinse. However, he stops you.

"I think I can help with that," he says, catching your hands and bringing them to his lips. Your breath catches in your throat; you know _exactly_ where this is going. He slides a finger into his mouth, curling his tongue around it, cleaning it off for you. He repeats the process with the other four and by the time your right hand is done, your eyes are half-rolled back into your head and your knees are decidedly weaker. You let out a soft whimper as he moves to the other hand and his eyes flash to your face, the pupils dilated and pushing the color to the edges.

Your hands clean, he releases them and drops his forehead to rest on your shoulder. You're still pressed to the counter and sink, the edge digging into your lower back. He turns his head so his nose and mouth are pressed to the skin of your throat and collarbone.

"You smell divine," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath on you, as well as his voice. Your skin breaks into goose bumps despite the heat of the room. He starts kissing you there, taking small nips with his teeth and then soothing them with his tongue. You let your head fall back to allow him greater access as he works his way up, along your jawline and cheek before finally coming to your lips. He brushes over them once, then twice before he settles on them firmly, his tongue asking for entrance, which you grant. He makes a low groan of satisfaction that you can feel thrum through him. He breaks the kiss after a thorough exploration of the inside of your mouth with his tongue.

"You taste like peaches," he says, giving a soft, short chuckle. You nod.

"Shall we move this to the couch... or to the bedroom?" you ask softly. Benedict shrugs.

"I honestly don't mind either one," he says. You gently work your way out from your pinned position against the counter and pad your way to the bedroom you share with him, your bare feet making next to no noise on the floor. He follows close behind. You flop down on the bed and he follows you, rolling over on his side. You wriggle back against him so your back is still pressed into his chest. His arms come around to circle your waist and his lips settle at the back of your neck. You give a soft shudder of pleasure as he sighs contentedly against you and pressing the occasional kiss to your hair and neck, fine with just holding you like this. He begins to hum under his breath, the sound of his voice and his heartbeat lulling you until you both fall asleep, wrapped around each other with smiles on your faces.


	47. I Think I Love You- Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your best friend asks you on a date and you accept...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by TempErr: Can you do another one with Richard Brook, he's so cute...but maybe a fluff (fluffy smut obviously, I'm not that pure HURR HURR), the romantic in me kinda wants it? :3
> 
> I only hope I lived up to your expectation

You aren't sure when you realize that you're in love with your mate, Rich Brook.

You think the attraction started when he kissed you for a scene in acting class a few months back. You had just been through a horrible break-up, and the person you were playing in the scene was going through something very similar to your real life and you felt distraught and angry and hurt and alone, and the next thing you knew, he was kissing you (well, him as the character or something, it's gets complicated). After the scene, he went right back to being your best mate, but something felt different.

oOoOo

Only a few days ago did he finally gather up enough courage to ask you out. He'd just gotten the callback about The Storyteller gig, and he phoned you first, practically shaking with excitement and, in the babble, asked you out for dinner and drinks. Surprised, flattered, and secretly relieved, you said yes. You could tell by the barely muffled sigh of relief on the other end of the line that he had been expecting a no. You set the date and time and hung up.

oOoOo

You're putting the finishing touches on your hair when the buzzer goes off. Eagerly, you unlock the door and grab your purse and slip into your shoes, waiting for Rich to come up. He knocks on the door to your flat a few moments later, and his expression when you open it is priceless; somewhere in your mind, you realize that he really fancies you, probably as much as you fancy him. His normally messy hair is tidied up a bit, and he's in a very sharp shirt, tie, and trousers. He blushes slightly and offers you his arm; you let Rich lead you out into London and down the street to your favorite pub.

Dinner is delicious, and you're both on your second pint when he clears his throat. "So, I've got news."

"Yeah?" You take a sip of your beer, washing down your fish and chips.

"I got the part."

It takes three seconds for the words to sink in, and then it's all you can do to keep from screaming with excitement. "Ohmygod! Why didn't you tell me sooner? How'd you keep quiet about it? Rich, I'm so _proud_ of you."

He's really flushing now, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "I wanted to tell you first, before anyone else. I'm... I'm so excited!"

"You should be. You've earned it, Rich. Hold on, I'll be right back." You head up to the bar and order another round of his favorite, completely on you. Bringing the glasses back to the table, you lift yours in a toast. "To The Storyteller."

oOoOo

You're both rather buzzed as you wander back down towards your flat a few hours later, holding each other up and giggling uncontrollably. "And- and then- he tripped!"

Rich nearly collapses from laughter, pulling on your arm to stay up. You lean against a nearby wall to try and catch your breath.

"I've loved you for ages."

Your eyes widen as you look at him, his expression completely shocked. "I- that wasn't- you weren't-"

The next thing you know, you're kissing him.

It's very gentle, mostly just to shut him up, but then you feel him start to relax and enjoy it, his hands ever so tenderly cupping your face. It's chaste and slightly sloppy and you both taste of alcohol, but you can smell Rich's scent (honey and grass and books and Rich), and you moan softly against his lips. Slowly breaking the kiss, before he can say anything else, you ask, "D'you wanna come up?"

He looks a bit bashful, but he nods. "As long as I can kiss you again."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

oOoOo

You end up snogging on your sofa. It was the closest piece of furniture once you were both through the door, and with Rich's hand easing its way into your hair as he mouthed along your jaw, you nudged him in that direction. He's a really bloody fantastic kisser, just hesitant enough to let you know he cares but willing to take charge as soon as he knows what you like. He's currently exploring your mouth with his tongue, finding more spots that make you shiver and groan than you knew you had. Your arms are around his neck, and he's leaning over you ever so slightly. As it is, it takes a long time before you realize that you're laying down fully on the sofa and he's subtly rocking against your center.

" _Rich_..."

He breaks the kiss and stares at you, eyes blown wide with desire. "Yeah? Are you okay?"

You give him a coy half-smile and kiss his nose. "If you wanna do more, you... you can. I- I can't tell you how long I've wanted this."

His eyes widen slightly. "I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

"Can you really see me with anyone else? You're the one I brought home. To you, I say yes."

He's beaming when he kisses you again, letting the passion build and smolder and grow until you're panting and whimpering. Rich slips his hands to the front of your blouse and slowly works it open, kissing his way down your chest as he reveals your skin and bra. You have the vague thought that he's almost worshipping your body with his mouth when the air of your flat hits your skin. You sit up and help pull it off, dropping it to the floor and reaching forward to take his shirt off as well.

Once his torso is bare, Rich captures your mouth again, nibbling gently on your bottom lip to distract you from his hands; he undoes the catch on your bra and starts playing with your nipples, teasing and rolling them, but not enough to be painful. You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, and you shift, aching for his touch. You're vaguely aware of his smirk against your mouth before he slides down enough to let his mouth take over on your breasts.

Clearly, Rich is a big fan of foreplay; you've never really been into it, but the way he does it, you feel like every single part of your body is an erogenous zone made especially for him. Your eyes are shut and your head is thrown back, soft mewling noises escaping from your mouth. He finally leaves your breasts bright pink and wanting just long enough to divest you of your shoes, jeans, and knickers; he then stands and does the same for himself.

You risk a peek at him when you feel his heat leave, and you have to swallow hard to see him revealed. He's not extremely long, but you can tell he is rather thick; that thought is enough to make your breathing catch. Rich climbs back onto the sofa and kneels between your legs. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his Irish accent suddenly thicker than you've ever heard it before. The next thing you're aware of is his tongue gently lapping at your clit and his fingers stroking you slowly. He eases you open, and your last coherent thought is that he's massaging you before you dissolve into a complete coma of pleasure.

The man is a bloody sex god; his fingers reach further than you'd thought they would, and you've never been more in love with his mouth. He's humming something against you, his teeth and tongue teasing and tugging, and without warning you come, gasping and keening his name. Rich lifts his head when you've finished, wiping your juices from his chin. "You taste amazing, luv," he murmurs, leaning up for a brief kiss against your lips. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls a condom from his wallet, rolling it on and crawling up your body, hovering over you. "I think I love you," he whispers.

"Me too."

Rich kisses you again and slowly presses into you, stretching you even more than his fingers had. It's such a snug fit, you're amazed it even works at all, but everything is worth the look of reverence and pleasure on his face. He doesn't take you and pound you and make you scream either; he goes slowly, taking his time and rolling his hips, making love to you in every sense of the word.

You hold him close to your chest as you throw your head back, chanting his name and playing with his hair. It seems to last forever, just this constant ebb and flow of pleasure and Rich and you. You both are sweating slightly when he speeds up, moaning that he's close. It's only then that his fingers return to toy with your nub, tweaking it to make you cry his name seconds before he follows, filling the condom with a groan, your name on his lips.

The two of you lie tangled up in each other for a long while after that, trading kisses and touches. After he disposes of the condom and wipes you both down with a damp cloth (truly, ever the gentleman), you pull the blanket on the back of the sofa onto the two of you.

When you wake up with the sun streaming through the windows of your flat, Rich's smiling face is the first thing you see.

"Good morning, gorgeous."


	48. BONUS CHAPTER 3: Comfort- Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You feel completely unlovable and alone until your boyfriend gets home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a really bad day, and this helped shatter my week long writer's block. And it helped me feel better.

You're having one of those days. It's the kind of day when you can't be bothered with anyone because it's the kind of day when you feel like no one understands or loves you. If your life were like 'Sherlock', you'd say you were having one of the consulting detective's black moods, and since you're currently dating the man himself (meaning the actor, but that depends on his headspace before he leaves for work), you prefer not to do that... just in case he doesn't like talking about work at home.

You roll over on the couch, curled up on yourself with your arms wrapped around your knees. You knew today was going to be a long day for him, but you weren't planning on lapsing into a wash of self-pity. You're so out of it that you don't hear the door open or him call out that he's home. Ben finds you on the sofa and kneels by your head, brushing your hair back from your face.

"Hey there."

You don't respond, eyes glassy with unshed tears; he notices immediately.

"Come on, up you get. I know what you need."

You have trouble sitting up, muscles stiff from laying for God knows how long on your side, but he gives you a hand, toeing off his shoes and laying back against the couch and gathering you into his arms. You press your head to his chest, breathing him in. Ben runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead. "What's wrong, luv?"

The tears spill over, dampening his shirt, but he only holds you tighter. "I'm here. It's all right."

Now you're full on sobbing: snot, tears, the whole deal. You listen to his heartbeat as you cry, but your breath hitches slightly when he begins to sing.

"Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around..." (1)

His voice washes over you as you bury your face in his shirt. You feel you don't deserve this man, his love, any of the amazing things you suddenly seem to have. Ben is extremely patient, rocking you and singing until you have nothing left; you're all cried out and you pull back slightly, staring very embarrassed at the mess on his shirt. "S-s-sorry-"

He stops you with a brief, gentle kiss. "It'll wash out," he whispers. "Now, time to clean you up."

Ben helps you stand and leads you to the bathroom, sitting you on the counter and soaking a flannel with warm water. He cleans off your face before washing the cloth out and setting it on your eyes, the warmth soaking through and making you sigh contentedly.

"There. Isn't that better?"

"Mhmm."

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

The words are out before you can stop them. "You're the detective. You figure it out."

You can almost hear him raise an eyebrow. "Well... you know that's just a part, yes?"

You nod, your face flushing. "I didn't mean to say it! I-"

He kisses the tip of your nose. "I know. I would assume that something upset you and my being here helped you feel better."

"Yeah. I-I-" It sounds stupid now that you think about it. "I just felt... unlovable," you mumble.

He removes the flannel from your eyes, meeting your gaze. "You _are_ loved. And lovable. And I love _you_."

Your eyes widen and you throw your arms around his neck, nuzzling his throat when he reciprocates. "I love you too."

Ben finally breaks the hug, meeting your gaze with an impish smile. You hesitantly smile back and kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

"Of course," he murmurs, his lips brushing your neck for a moment before he helps you off the counter. "Now. Food."

You aren't particularly hungry, but whenever Ben decides it's time to cook, you know you're in for an adventure. Tonight, he's making fruit salad and you get endless enjoyment out of watching him struggle to cut up the bananas, strawberries, kiwis, wash the raspberries and blueberries and dump them all in a bowl. You pour the both of you a glass of red wine (you need something for your nerves after all that crying), and then Benny surprises you by pulling a fresh pint of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. He fixes you each a bowl of the stuff and then dumps (literally dumps) large spoonfuls of fruit on top. Getting out two spoons, he hands you your serving and the utensil before giving you a toast: "To chasing all the bad thoughts away."

You blush and repeat, taking a sip of the drink before trying the dessert: heavenly. Cold, crisp, sweet and tangy, it's everything you need at that moment... except perhaps a good snog. You devour it hungrily, your stomach growling much to his amusement, and when you try and swat at his arm, a berry misses your mouth and dribbles juice down your chin. Smooth. Really graceful there, you think, but Ben is suddenly right in front to you, his gaze (green with gold at the moment) boring into yours as he deliberately leans in and laps up the juice.

You think your heart is going to stop while he works, cleaning all the sweet stickiness from your skin before following the trail to your lips and tracing them with his tongue. You moan, gripping the counter with your hands, the food forgotten. He takes your face in his hands, cradling it and finally closing the gap for a proper kiss.

You never grow tired of kissing Benedict. Never. And this time he tastes like red wine and raspberries, his wicked and clever tongue that can spout line after line of complicated dialogue now focused on easing its way between your teeth and claiming your mouth and... _oh_.

You clutch at him, kissing him back as hard as you can, breathing him in deep. He's been so busy lately that you've barely had time for anything aside from a quickie in the shower a few days ago and the occasionally goodbye or hello kiss, so this is just marvelous.

Ben corkscrews his tongue around yours, swallowing your moans and gasps as he presses you back against the counter. He's clearly hungry for you, for anything from you, and when he breaks the kiss, his lips are swollen and pink, the cupid's bow even more pronounced than usual. Suddenly smirking, you lean up and trace it with your tongue as his eyes widen in surprise.

The actor growls, his pupils blowing, and he seizes your face once more. "So that's how you want to play? Bedroom. _Now_." His voice is low, gravelly, and husky, the voice he uses when so turned on he can barely think straight. You flush bright red and lean in for a kiss, but he pulls away, crossing his arms and watching. "Off you go."

You narrow your eyes at him and stalk off, stomping through the flat. You hear him chuckle and you run the rest of the way, slamming the door and barricading it with your body. He, of course, is able to gain entry easily; the wood floor does nothing for your being able to brace the door, especially with socks on.

"Trying to lock me out?"

"Just wanted to see how desperate you are."

He drags you over to the bed and throws you down before crawling over you, his body pinning yours easily. "I've done nothing but work for weeks. Believe me, I'm 'desperate'."

You recapture his lips, snogging him as hard as you can while unbuttoning his shirt. He works on your blouse and jeans, pulling them away and free, chucking discarded clothing into various corners of the room; you find a sock stuck to the ceiling fan the next morning. When he tackles your bra, however, he slows down, taking his sweet time in revealing your breasts and worshipping them with his mouth: kissing, sucking, licking, nipping, teasing your nipples until you're practically sobbing for him to stop, so aroused it hurts. Ben just smirks at you.

"You like it a bit rough. Don't deny it."

All you can do is nod as he kisses and bites his way down your stomach to your knickers, pulling them down with his teeth and dropping them to the floor. You're completely bare before him now, and he's staring at your sex as if he's just unwrapped a present. Ben leans forward and licks you once along your folds before sitting back and pulling off the rest of his trousers and pants. Snagging a condom from the side table, he rolls it on and strokes himself a few times, moaning your name. Your mouth falls open and then his gaze is pinning you in place while he crawls back up your body and takes your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue while he teases you with just the head of his arousal, rocking in and out ever so slightly or rubbing against your clit.

You can't beg or plead since he's still breathing your air, and his hands pin your wrists beside your head when you struggle and try to pull more from him. After ages of this torture, he finally relents and sinks into you, groaning into your mouth while you whimper and keen. Still kissing you, almost tongue-fucking you, he begins to thrust gently. His slow, languid movements keep the fire burning, but don't inflame it the way you want. Just as you're about to try and throw him onto his back, he captures your tongue, sucks hard, and snaps his hips three times. You scream his name (garbled, but his name nonetheless) and tremble beneath him.

Now he's going to town and fucking you into the mattress. You're desperate for more air than you can suck in through your nose, but he clearly doesn't intend to release your lips anytime soon. You never realized how much you love kissing him until now, and you absently vow to never let it grow dull.

Ben soon pulls you back from your reverie by circling his hips and pulling almost all the way out and thrusting just the head into you again. You manage to cry in frustration and almost slip his grasp. He releases your mouth long enough to drop his lips to your ear. "So... you want to come?" he purrs.

"YES!"

"Then _come_ ," he growls, attacking your neck and thrusting hard, snapping and circling and snapping again, dropping one hand to play with your clit until you shatter around him, your orgasm making the mirrors rattle... but he's still not done with you. Whispering every single dirty thought in his mind into your ear and still toying with your now over-sensitive clit, he rips another orgasm from you before he comes, groaning your name in ecstasy  before pulling out and collapsing next to you. Ben disposes of the condom and cleans you both up before he pulls you against him, back to chest.

He presses gentle kisses to the sweaty, salty skin of your neck and holds you, humming softly until you finally fall asleep in the one place you never want to leave, the one place you feel really and truly loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- From Sweeney Todd


	49. BONUS CHAPTER 4: Cuddling- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really bloody freezing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this is the first one of these we did, very fluffy

You sit, scowling, in your room in the ski lodge in the Swiss Alps. It would have been lovely to be here on holiday, but you weren't here for a holiday; you're with Sherlock and John for a case (something about the owner of the lodge embezzling funds and then turning up dead). Sherlock was hot on the trail of the murderer, and you were confined to your room for the time being after you tripped. Sherlock gave you his usual exasperated look and effectively banished you with a "I don't think I shall require your assistance. John should be sufficient." The blizzard outside rages on, cutting off any contact from the town below. And then... the lights flickered. You look up at the ceiling fixture.

"No no no no... don't do this..." you murmur. But the weather and the electrical work don't hear your pleas, and the lights shut out... and with the darkness comes the cold. The heating is electrical, and that is gone now, too. Just bloody perfect.

There's a sudden knock on your door, and you jump. You go answer it, and there, with his phone in hand, is a rather irate-looking Sherlock.

"John is stuck in an elevator with a group of people and can't get out until the lights come back on," he complains. He sweeps into your room and collapses dramatically on your couch. You blink but shut the door behind him. There's a fireplace in your room, and you go to it, busying yourself with setting up a blaze to keep warm and offer some light. Thank god it's functional and not just decorative, or else you'd really be screwed. After much coaxing, there's a soft glow that fills the room and you sigh, sitting back on your heels as you watch the flames grow stronger. Sherlock is still deep in his sulk, and you can see him start to shiver; the fire isn't quite enough. You sigh and grab a blanket from off your bed.

"Budge over," you say, nudging his feet. He glares at you but complies. "Now here, wrap this other end around you. You can't do your work properly if you freeze," you state, matter-of-factly. He snorts, but takes the other end of the blanket, the soft fabric now cocooning you both. You keep a respectful distance away, knowing that he doesn't like to be touched. Which is why you're startled when he scoots closer. You look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm still cold," he says, looking imperious, "and sharing body heat has been proven to be effective in colder climes." Meaning you're going to have to cuddle to stay warm. You swallow hard.

"All right," you say slowly, and you move closer as well. You're surprised that he says he's cold... he's putting out heat like a furnace, and you say so. He smirks.

"High metabolism. I've always had it." You nod and burrow closer to the source of the warmth. He's a bit taken aback when you press against him.

"You're... very soft," he says. You chuckle.

"I'm a woman... softness tends to come with the territory," you reply. He rumbles a laugh as well, which is nice. You wish he'd laugh and smile more often; he looks so _serious_ most of the time. You watch the fire and take surreptitious glances at him out of the corner of your eye. The firelight softens the hard angles and planes of his face, making him look less jagged. You only leave the warmth of the blanket and Sherlock when the fire starts to die, and you go to throw another log on and poke at it. You hurry back and quickly clamber under the covers on the couch. Many hours pass, and you suddenly feel a soft thud. You look over... Sherlock has fallen asleep on your shoulder. You make a soft noise of fond exasperation. The silly man stays up for days when working, barely eating. It drives both you and John spare.

After a long time, you can feel your eyelids begin to droop as well. You work your way to a reclining position. Sherlock head is pillowed on your chest, and he, wonder of wonders, smiles in his sleep as he listens to your heartbeat. He winds his arms around your waist and actually _snuggles_ to get more comfortable. You bite your lip; he's not going to like this at all when he wakes up, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to make sure he won't roll over and fall off the couch, one hand on his soft, raven curls. A few seconds later, lulled by his even breathing and the soft crackle of the flames, you drift off as well.

oOoOo

An hour or so later, John, who has managed to escape the elevator comes to your room. He lets himself in and stifles a laugh as he sees the spectacle before him; the aloof consulting detective and the girl who helps him, asleep on the couch and _cuddling_. He takes a quick picture with his phone and sends it to yours.

The caption under it? "Proof that Sherlock Holmes is human."


	50. The Night He'll Never Give You- Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the pathologist walks into the pub you're at, you never imagine you'd be sleeping over...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Cel: Something sweet and tender with Molly
> 
> I hope I've done it justice.

You're sitting at the bar and sipping your Smirnoff Ice when she walks in, bumping into the drunken men on their way out into the London night. She looks nervous, a bit twitchy and glancing shyly around as she walks slowly to the bar. "Is that seat taken?"

You glance at the stool to your left. "No. It's free."

She sits down and orders a shot of Jameson. You raise an eyebrow incredulously. "Rough day, was it?"

She glances up quickly, brown hair falling free of its elastic. "Is it that obvious?" The young woman sighs and offers her hand. "Molly Hooper. Pathologist."

You take it and give your name, insisting on getting the next round of shots. She thanks you and blushes; the pair of you take your shots at the same time, the whiskey making you cough and splutter. Molly giggles hoarsely. "Not used to liquor?"

"Usually a 'beer and wine' kind of gal," you retort, coughing again.

Grinning, Molly orders you both a round of Stella.

"You don't have to-"

"Don't argue. I want to."

oOoOo

Several hours later, you both have sobered up enough to leave, although you know they'll never forget your rendition of 'I Feel Fine' at that pub in a hurry. Molly is still teasing you about it on your way to the Underground, catching your arm as you stumble slightly. "My flat's just a block away," she says. "You could... come back. If you want."

You thank her gratefully, still a bit unsteady on your feet. "Some water would be great," you mumble quietly, leaning gently on her for support. Still poking fun at your drunken singing skills, Molly helps you up to her flat and sets a large glass of water before you which you greedily gulp down. "So... why'd you have such a rotten day?"

She's blushing instantly. "Oh. It's -ah- nothing. It's nothing." The look you give her is one of 'cut the crap'. The mousy woman sits down and stares at her shoes.

"This guy I sort of work with... he's so cruel sometimes. And the worst is that I've crushed on him hopelessly, and I know it's hopeless. He's in love with his best friend. Everyone can see it And I... I'm just. So. Alone."

Before you realize it, you've taken her hand, holding it and squeezing gently. "It's all right. Trust me. I just realized my 'best friend' has been using me for two years as an excuse to hang out with an ex. And I loved the bastard. So, don't worry. We all do it."

Molly stares at you for several seconds, and suddenly she's kissing you. You give a surprised squeak and Molly pulls back, looking rather shocked.

"Oh go. I'm sorry. That was- I'm- it's not-"

You roll your eyes and pull her back in, cradling her face as you kiss her. "Stop worrying," you whisper in her ear after you break for air. "I've been thinking about that since you walked into the pub."

Molly giggles slightly then moans as you kiss your way down her neck and suck a light bruise to her skin. "Let me show you what he can't. Let me give you the kind of night you want."

Her eyes widen, and her breath hitches and then she's kissing you again and tangling her hands in your hair. Growling, you drag the two of you up and back Molly against the wall, slipping a hand up her blouse. The resulting moan from her lips sets a fierce burn in your stomach.

It takes you both a few minutes to think clearly enough to make it to the bedroom. Blouses come off first, and Molly surprises you by kissing down your throat and chest to your breasts. Suddenly, you're the one moaning and writhing against the wall as she tears away your bra and teases your nipples without mercy. After several minutes of this, you nudge her back until you both fall onto the bed, kissing eagerly once more.

Molly fumbles with the side table for a moment before dropping lube and a rather large dildo on the duvet next to her. "I'm-clean," she whimpers as you tug on her earlobe.

"As am I," you whisper back. Jeans are next, a flurry of denim unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Catching her eye, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her knickers and ease them off, discarding them as a faint pink blush steals over her pale skin.

" _Molly_ ," you whisper, kissing her again as you reach for the lube. You pop the top and slick your fingers first, slipping one, then two into her and gently pumping, curling, stretching as you stare at her. The pathologist has her head thrown back and is biting her lip in earnest. She twitches and clenches around you, the smell of her arousal cloying in the air. You are barely able to stop and lube the dildo, replacing your fingers in her with the toy.

Molly almost stops breathing altogether when you twist and pump it, a single finger toying with her clit. "P-please... more... _harder_!"

Raising an eyebrow, you lean down and kiss her mouth as you obey, swallowing her moans and whimpers. It's slow and tender, the way you work her over, releasing her lips to duck down and tease her clit with your tongue instead. Almost a minute later she comes, crying your name and dropping back against the sheets. You remove the toy and wipe it off, laying down next to her.

"That was... _god_ I needed that," Molly whispers, turning to look at you.

"No problem. I wanted to." You shift slightly, helping your knickers ride up just enough to relieve some of the pressure in your own sex. Molly notices with a smirk.

"Want a hand?"

Before you can answer, you see your knickers fly across the room and catch on the door handle. She pulls a vibrator from her drawer and winks at you. "Can't leave you unfinished, makes me a bad host."

Your eyes widen at her smile, and she flicks on the toy to a low setting, dragging it along your folds and rubbing the very tip in circles around your clit until you start to roll your hips up to try and meet the friction. Only then does she ease it inside your body. There are ridges and bumps running around the outside, stroking you in places you aren't used to.

Suddenly, the setting jumps and your back arches, your hands fisting in the sheets. "Ahh!!"

All you can hear is the hum of the vibrator and her small chuckle, her fingers playing with your sensitive nub while she pounds the toy into you. Never in your life have you climaxed so fast or so hard.

It takes some time before you come down enough to be aware that you're both snogging and cuddling, tucked in under the covers as you comfort each other, eventually slipping into dreaming.


	51. Show Me What You've Learned- Sherlock and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet an old friend from Uni and bring him back home to catch up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by inatrice: I would like to request Sebastian and Sherlock. Sherlock sees reader with Seb, recalls seeing reader with John and is intrigued. Sherlock is too analytical and Seb has to show him how to use finesse with love making.  
> That is literally all I want in my life.

You are in Tesco's, getting some milk before bringing it back to 221B Baker Street (Sherlock _staunchly_ refuses to go get it) when you feel someone nudge against you. You turn to see who it is and nearly drop your gallon of milk.

"Seb!!!" you squeal in glee. The tall blonde man laughs as he pulls you into a crushing embrace. You and Sebastian Moran were close during Uni; he was something like a big brother you never had (well, slightly like a big brother. After all, one usually doesn't want to boff their big brother silly like you want to boff Seb), and you'd lost touch during the years.

"Hullo, sweetheart! God, it's been ages!" he says. You nod.

"Let me go pay for this and then come back with me to mine. We _need_ to catch up, it's been too long!" you eagerly say. He nods and accompanies you back to John and Sherlock's flat. Sherlock wouldn't really mind, you hoped. He barely noticed it when other people were over, after all.

You let yourself in and put the milk away (carefully avoiding the jar of fingers and the plastic baggie full of tongues). Seb is standing in the doorway, though, eyes locked on Sherlock who is glaring back, both of them looking ready to rip out the other's throat.

"Moran," Sherlock says, his voice a low rasp of distaste.

"Holmes," Seb replies, his disdain clear. You are confused, looking between them both.

"So... you know each other?" you ask. Sherlock lets out a wry chuckle.

"He's only working for my greatest rival," the consulting detective says. Seb lets out a harsh bark of laughter.

"Yeah, well you aren't making my job too much easier," he snarls before starting towards Sherlock. You scramble to stop him and end up getting pressed between the both of them, a stop-gap as they glare at each other.

"Stop this _now_ ," you say sharply, drawing their attention for a moment. "Seb, if you clearly loathe Sherlock this much, we can go out somewhere else to catch up. Sherlock, you have your milk now, so we'll be on our way." There is another long pause as they continue glaring. You wriggle a bit to ease the pressure of being literally crushed between the two tall men; _that_ gets their full attention. Seb's eyes snap down to yours, and you have to bite your lip. He's gone from being angry to looking, well... turned on.

"Sorry, luv," he says, his voice huskier than usual. "We'll get going." Sherlock snorts.

"I highly doubt she wants to be shagged against an alley wall, Moran," he drawls. You look up at him, confused at this seemingly random change in topic. But this is _Sherlock_... nothing he says is random. He looks down at you and rolls his bright blue eyes. "He is clearly aroused by having you pressed up against him," the detective explains. He says that just as you wriggle a bit more (they were really trying to get to each other and haven't moved an inch). Seb lets out a groan that he tries to stifle, but not quickly enough. You feel a flash of heat flare between your thighs, and your face burns as well.

"Fascinating," Sherlock says... and he sounds genuinely interested in the effect you're having on the blonde man in front of you. Seb snorts in derision.

"Whatever, Holmes," he says. You stare at him, looking up through your eyelashes. He lets out a quick exhalation. "Shouldn't be doing that, love, or else I'll take his insult as a good idea," he warns. You shiver and bite your lower lip.

"And why wouldn't it be a good idea?" you say before you can stop yourself.

"Because I'll take you up on it," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. You swallow hard, going slightly boneless, but you start when you feel hands on your hips. It isn't Seb's hands, they're clenched into fists at his sides, as if he's trying to stop from grabbing you. So that means...

"Sherlock?" you ask, craning your neck back to see the tall consulting detective. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Experiment," he says simply. "Observing how you react when aroused, the variable being where I touch you." You blink. You don't think you've ever heard something more smart or more completely idiotic at the same time. Seb snorts.

"You may be brilliant, Holmes, but you're also an idiot. When you make love to a woman, you can't treat it as something to be _studied_ ," he says. Sherlock moves away so that he's no longer touching you, leaving you pressed close to Seb.

"Then you should _show_ me, since you clearly consider yourself an expert on the matter," he says, his voice cutting. Sebastian smirks.

"Gladly," he says, and then he grabs you and kisses you within an inch of your life. Your arms are clasped around his neck, and his tongue is in your mouth, darting and stroking and curling, making you moan. When he finally breaks the kiss, you're slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen. "Hope you're taking notes," he says, mockingly. Sherlock growls and snatches you away from Seb, his eyes blazing and fixed on yours. Before you know what's happening, _Sherlock_ is kissing you. His lips are teasing, exploring, then his tongue is probing against yours, learning your mouth. You arch into him, your fingers winding in his black curls. This elicits a rumble from his chest, and he grips you tighter to him. You're suddenly yanked away and in Seb's arms again. Sherlock snarls in protest but Seb holds up a hand.

"If you're going to be learning more, Sherly-boy, we need to move to a more appropriate setting," he says. Sherlock narrows his eyes at the derisive nickname, but nods and escorts you all to the nearest bedroom. He shuts the door and stands impassively, arms crossed over his chest.

"Proceed," he says.

Seb grins and kisses you breathless again, this time letting his hands wander: from your hips, up your sides and over to cup your breasts through the thin material of your shirt and bra. You mewl and arch into his touch, his large warm hands making you burn more for him. He groans.

"You have _no_ idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs into your ear. You chuckle a little.

"Well, let's make up for lost time, then," you tell him, and he's kissing you again, tugging at your clothing just as you are tugging at his. You've nearly forgotten about the other person in the room until you feel that second set of hands pulling at your shirt. You remove your arms from around Seb's neck so it can slide off, leaving you in your bra. Sherlock begins to emulate what he saw Seb do, his long musician's fingers tracing soft patterns on your skin that make you gasp. You feel him smile against you, quite pleased with himself for eliciting this response. Seb has removed his shirt as well and your hands are wandering over his bare torso, admiring the muscles under his skin. Sherlock is fumbling with your bra and has the catch undone in about two seconds with a small noise of triumph, and you discard it as well, your breasts now bare for both of their scrutiny. Sherlock is quicker than Seb, his hands coming up to cup them and roll your nipples between his fingers, causing you to gasp and moan. Seb's look is one of jealousy that he wasn't able to get there first, and he makes up for it by kissing you half-blind. You can feel his impressive erection nudging your belly through the fabric of his jeans, and you slide your hands down to cup it, caressing the sensitive flesh. He bites his lip and groans, his hips involuntarily bucking into your hands.

"We're all wearing too much," Sherlock observes, his voice huskier too. You can feel him where he's pressed tight against your back, and, as much as he's trying to remain the aloof observer, you can tell that this has gotten him all kinds of excited as well.

"And what do you intend to do about that?" you say, looking lazily up at him, your eyes nearly clouded over with want. Sherlock swallows hard and starts unbuttoning your trousers. Seb bats his hands away to do that himself.

"You need to get undressed, Holmes, if you want the lesson to continue," he says, and you flush a bright shade of red. To be had by _two_ of the most gorgeous men you've ever seen? Only in your wildest of fantasies has this happened, and you can hardly believe it's about to become reality. You feel Sherlock move away slightly and hear his clothing begin to hit the floor.

"You need to strip the rest of the way too, Sebby," you murmur. He grins and moves away to do just that, but both of them are distracted when you're left in only your knickers. Seb is damn near drooling, and if Sherlock looks at you any more intensely, you think you might just burst into flames. Once you've removed the final scrap of cloth, they quickly finish their disrobing and are on you once again. You gasp as you feel the warmth of them both surrounding you, Seb claiming your mouth for his own, Sherlock pressing kisses down your neck and shoulder. You can hardly think as they work on you, unaware that they're slowly guiding you backwards.

You hit the bed with a slight cry of surprise, the two men guiding you to lay down on it. Seb is still avidly taking your mouth, but you cry out into the kiss as you feel Sherlock's lips trailing down your chest to suckle at your breasts. He smiles into your skin, pleased that he's figured something out without Seb's 'direction.' Seb disengages from you to talk to Sherlock. He speaks softly but intensely for some moments, leaving you to somewhat regain your bearings. Sulking a little, Sherlock settles off to the side, leaving you to Sebastian.

"What did you tell him?" you murmur as he continues to work. He smirks.

"That he has to stay and _watch_ until I'm finished. Then he gets his turn to try what he's learned," he replies. You shiver as he works down your neck and across your collarbones, down to lavish attention on your breasts, then down your belly to your sex. He grins up at you from between your thighs before he presses his mouth to you, lapping at your wetness. Your fingers curl into his hair as he pleasures you with his tongue. He's only there for a moment though, before he's kissing you again. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, and you catch his hands rolling on a condom. He brushes the tip of his erection against your slick folds before slowly sliding into you to the hilt. He groans as he adjusts to the feeling of you stretched tight around him and your eyes flutter shut as you feel him inside you. You shoot a look to Sherlock, who is still observing, his eyes burning into yours as his hands twitch; you can tell that he wants to touch and explore you so _badly_ , but he is forced to wait until Seb is finished. The larger blonde man begins to slowly thrust into you, causing your breath to leave you in a gasp.

"God, I've wanted this forever... to feel you wrapped around me, your taste on my tongue," he breathes in your ear. You whimper and link your ankles around his hips as he moves. He begins to go faster and harder, driving into you with grunts of exertion as he reaches deep inside you. His hands are gripping your hips as he drives into you, kissing you as he works. He's so big that you're surprised that you can take him all, but he feels so good that you don't particularly care. You can feel that white-hot coil of pleasure building in your belly.

"Oh... oh _Seb_!" you cry out as you shatter around him. The feeling of you coming on his cock sends him over the edge and he drives into you three more times before he's growling your name and spending himself with a low moan. He slides out of you and rolls off, disposing of the condom and smirking at Sherlock, wordlessly challenging him to do better. The consulting detective sets his jaw, fire in his eyes as he covers you with his body. He isn't as muscular as Seb, and he's gentler, almost tentative. He kisses you almost shyly before gaining more confidence. You wind your fingers through his hair and tug lightly on it, causing him to rumble a pleased growl in his chest. His hands trail over your skin, slightly damp from your lovemaking with Seb. He breaks the kiss and his mouth is everywhere, tasting your neck and marking you there with a love bite, down to your collarbones, suckling at your breasts again which causes you to cry out as he catches a nipple gently between his teeth as he rolls the other between his long fingers. He quickly trails a hand between you, though, and gently presses against your womanhood. You emit a strangled gasp, which causes him to chuckle.

"I've always been a... _tactile_ learner. Good with my hands," he murmurs into your ear as he slips one, then two fingers inside of you. You arch into his hand as he curls and thrusts his fingers inside of you, brushing your clit with his thumb which nearly causes you to go over the edge again. As he feels you begin to clench around him, though, he removes his fingers and pops them into his mouth, cleaning them off. You're left half-breathless as he also rolls on a condom and then sinks into you. His eyes go wide before they flutter shut and he groans as you wrap around him. He begins to move almost at once, long strokes that you reciprocate, rocking with him. The both of you are so keyed up, him from watching and you from his talented fingers, that you don't last very long. You cry out and shudder around him and then he's growling your name as he spills into the condom with a jerk and a twitch. As he withdraws and the three of you relax, you chuckle. Both Seb and Sherlock look at you curiously.

"Wonder what we've all learned," you say cheekily, and they laugh with you as you sprawl out across the bed, sated for the moment.


	52. The Plaything of the Law- Mycroft and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two gorgeous men chatting you up at a bar? May be too good to be true, but only the evening will tell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by xmelx: Something with Mycroft and Lestrade, double penetration and basically being used as their sex toy.
> 
> I took great pleasure in writing this one

You're sitting at your favorite pub in Central London, and for the past half hour, two men have been hitting on you. They introduced themselves as Greg (silver haired, rather fit, a rough, sinful voice) and Myc (tall, ginger, could be posh but oh man has he been undressing you with his eyes). If it weren't for the fact that they're chatting you up, you'd peg them as boyfriends in a heartbeat; there's clearly a strong connection between them.

After getting you your third pint, Greg makes an offhand comment about how he wouldn't mind sharing someone as fine as you; Myc agrees but adds that watching someone else have you would make him terribly jealous. Taking a deep sip so as to get past the head at the top of your glass, you look back and forth at them and think about it. "How exactly would you want to share me?" you ask, looking at Greg.

He seems slightly surprised, but a slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Luv, how _wouldn't_ I want to share you," he murmurs, leaning in close so only you can hear. "It would be with Myc of course, although I have to say I'm the better shag."

"You shouldn't believe everything dear Gregory tells you."

You jump slightly, trying to look at Myc, but his voice stops you turning. "Now, if I were sharing, you'd very well be _mine_ , catering to _my_ needs, following _my_ orders. I'm rather used to being obeyed."

Fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back in your head, you take a deep swing of your drink and stand, wobbling slightly until you find your balance.

"Fine then. What are we waiting for?"

oOoOo

Once you get back to the apartment, things start to blur.

One moment Myc and Greg are helping you over the threshold you clumsily tripped on, you howling with laughter as you use their arms for support, the next your back is up against the door and Greg is snogging you senseless, and he's bloody fantastic at it. He claims your mouth in one fell swoop, easily prying your lips apart so he can thoroughly explore your mouth with his tongue; you jump slightly to realize that Myc is currently sucking on your neck, nipping at the skin before running the flat of his tongue over the marks. You try and tug your shirt further down on your shoulders, but each of them is pinning one of your wrists  to the door and you can't move. The thought makes you moan and shiver.

"We're taking out time tonight, my dear. We set the pace and you follow." Mycroft's lips and tongue are on your ear, tugging and sucking gently while you squirm, heat flaring between your thighs.

Greg chuckles into your mouth, breaking the kiss to let you breathe. "So we're doing _that_ tonight, are we?"

"I thought that was quite clear, Gregory."

You don't realize your blank expression until Greg leans in. "When we're finished, you won't be able to walk properly for several days, luv."

Mycroft steals the next kiss, his lips a bit softer and more commanding than Greg's, but he also seems to have some talent for reading you and in mere seconds, he has you gasping and sobbing; that also might have something to do with the fact that Greg has slipped his hand up your blouse and is thumbing your nipples through the fabric of your lacy bra. One particularly hard tweak has you shrieking Greg's name into Myc's mouth. The ginger man pulls away, eyes suddenly much darker than before.

"Tut tut, my dear. Don't you know that's bad manners to yell another man's name in bed?"

You gasp, Greg tweaking again; your legs nearly give out as Myc catches you. "Bedroom, I think. Coming, Gregory?"

"Not before you."

 _Ohhhhhh, he has a dirty mind_. They help you into the bedroom and close the door behind, the pair of them stripping you slowly. As each article of clothing is removed, they take time to explore the revealed skin with hands, fingers, and tongues. When only your blouse and bra are off, they lay you down on the bed and each one takes one of your nipples in his mouth. You quickly discover that Greg really does like it rough, tugging and sucking hard while Myc is more of the experimental type until he discovers exactly what makes you tick; then he takes you completely apart. In less than thirty seconds, your knickers are completely drenched, your hands are threaded in their hair, and you can barely breath to beg them to stop, to do more, to move on.

Myc stops first, tugging Greg away and whispering to him. The silver-haired man starts smirking and strips, revealing a rather well toned physique for his age; you absently wonder what he does (didn't he mention something about Scotland Yard?), but all thoughts of that are driven from your mind when you see his arousal. Your mouth begins to water before you're pulled back into your own body when Myc tugs off your jeans and knickers, baring your naked form to them both. You realize he's also stripped and take a moment to admire his erection. Both men are definitely above average: Myc is longer, but Greg is definitely thicker. The silver-haired man sits next to you on the bed and guides your mouth to him. "Go on, luv. Put your talented tongue to work."

You blush furiously but lean in and comply, swallowing him down at the same time that Myc tugs your clit with his teeth and slips two fingers into you. You squirm, but the ginger-haired man holds you still without any trouble, and Greg keeps one of his hands threaded through your hair, encouraging you.

"Yeah, just there, _unnnnnnngh_ , so good, can't wait to feel you around me, pounding into you, bet you're drenched thinking about it, _Ah_!!, yeah, that's a good girl."

You're suddenly aware of how close you are to coming when Myc pulls back, blowing gently on your clit. You whimper around Greg, shuddering and trying to rub your legs together, but the taller man is having none of it. Instead, he reaches up to play with your nipples while mouthing along your stomach, dipping his tongue into your naval and deliberately avoiding your swollen bud.

Greg lets you pull off long enough to gasp out, " _Please_ , stop teasing, Myc!" before tugging you back and having you suck him down once more. The other man positions your body so that you're on your hands and knees, and for one blessed moment you think he's going to take you... but no. Instead, something wet trails its way down your back, down the cleft of your arse and...

You cry out at the new sensation, rocking back as Myc sucks at your skin and thrusts his tongue into you. Greg's hand tightens on your head and pulls you off again to give him a chance to rest this time, holding you still as you fight desperately to rock back against Myc's mouth. "No, no, no, luv. Not until we say so. Besides... where's the fun in coming early, hmmmm?"

Your eyes widen, and he laughs, Myc pulling away and making you whine. "Gregory, it's time."

The silver haired man smirks, digging around in the side table for some condoms. He tosses more than one to Mycroft and rolls one on himself before lifting you up and easing you down onto his arousal, your sex stretching to accommodate his girth. He's easily reaching more places than you're used to, and it seems to take ages to sheath him fully. Barely giving you time to truly adjust, he pulls you down, pressing your hard nipples against his chest in order to whisper in your ear, Mycroft's fingers, cold and slick with lube, replacing his tongue.

"The whole time we were talkin' at the bar, all I could think about was this... sharing you... snogging you... your mouth was even better than I'd imagined... and now... so bloody hot and dripping... denial does that, makes you hotter for a nice, thick cock, doesn't it? Don't deny it, luv... you were imagining it too... me fucking you rough... or perhaps sensual and smooth like this?" He gently rolls his hips, rubbing all inside you and gently grinding against your clit. Your resulting moan is extremely wanton, but you don't give a flying fart in space. You feel Myc's fingers leave and his tip press against you instead. Greg helps hold you very still as the other man enters you, stretching and pressing in until... dear God in heaven, you've _never_ been this full in your life.

You can practically feel everything, even their pulses through the connection. One glance at Greg shows you brown eyes blown almost black with lust and he grinds up, sinking his teeth into your neck and sucking hard; at the same time, Myc pulls out until just his head is breaching you before snapping back in, making you cry out and whimper. They alternate, only one of them completely buried in you at a time, the counterpoint of fucking meaning you're always full with someone. It lasts like this for several minutes, none of the stimulation nearly enough to make you come or bring you close.

Just when you're about to speak up or complain, Myc pulls out and helps Greg pick you up. You're barely off the bed for ten seconds before they've replaced their condoms and swapped, Myc in front and Greg behind... with your legs around Myc's waist and his back to the wall, Greg entering you from behind. They work you on and off their cocks, kissing and sucking on whatever skin they can reach. Things get rougher from there, their thrusting getting sharper and harder and faster as you cry their names and squeal, but they still refuse to touch your clit, driving you towards the edge only to easily back off and away. (1)

Nearly snarling in frustration, you let them lower you to the bed again and confer amongst themselves, Greg swapping his condom again and straddling you on the bed. "I get to make you come first," he growls, capturing your lips as he buries himself in your heat. Your scream is lost in his mouth as he takes you hard and fast and rough, making the headboard smack the wall with every thrust. One of his hands drops to your clit and you're gone, coming with his name on your lips and his tongue in your mouth. Even after you're gone he keeps going, thrusting impossibly faster into your pulsing sex; by the time he spends himself in the condom, you've come a second time.

The silver-haired man slips out, and Mycroft takes his place, teasing your slit with his arousal before thrusting gently, only half in. He waits until you've come down a bit from your orgasm before taking you. He certainly reaches deeper than Greg, but he's far more eager to tease and taunt, fingering your bud only to go completely still just before you're able to come, then doing it again. Well, after four renditions of this, you're nearly sobbing, begging in an almost non-sensical babble for him to let you come. Smirking that infuriating smile, Myc obliges, sucking on an unblemished patch of skin as he brings you home. His name is on your lips as Greg's mouth closes over yours, swallowing the cry as Myc follows in the same manner as Greg. He, too, continues fucking you rough and hard and fast, tweaking your clit until you come for a staggering fourth time and pull him over with you before collapsing against the mattress. You feel completely boneless as Myc pulls out and cleans up, both men curling up around your body and gently kissing you. Just as you're drifting off, you feel a set of lips at your ear.

"That's nothing, luv. You'll start off tomorrow screaming for us. _Just wait_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- I included this detail because you aren't supposed to mix germs between the two entrances, can make you really sick. Hey, it's smut, but it can at least be safe smut. ;)


	53. What You Mean To Me- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no other words for it: you've had a crap day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Xenon: Moriarty having someone he (in the back of his mind) couldn't stand to lose

You sigh and sniffle as you make your way up to Jim's flat. You've just had what is possibly the worst day of your life; you got fired from your job, caught in the rain, then mugged... your purse was stolen with everything in it, including your phone. AND you managed to trip and fall over, skinning your hands and knees as well as managing to score a nice long gash on your cheek. Bleeding, stumbling, you knock on the door, looking like shit and feeling utterly horrid. Jim opens the door with a smile that quickly turns into a black look as he takes in your tattered and bloodied appearance. He fairly drags you inside, slamming the door behind him.

"What. Happened?" he asks, his Irish brogue a low growl, murder in his eyes.

You tell him the story, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. His face softens momentarily, and, when you're all done, he gathers you into his chest. You're shocked; you're crying and still bleeding, and Jim Moriarty holding you against his _Westwood_. You start to pull away but he drags you right back to him. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," he murmurs. You close your eyes and nuzzle into him more, taking in his scent. He pulls out his phone and starts texting and you look up at him, curious. His face is still black as he punches the keys.

"I'm sorry I upset you," you say quietly. He's in a bad mood, and you think that your presence isn't going to help it. He looks at you, confused, as you begin to move away.

"Where are you going?" he asks, something akin to panic in his voice. You turn back to face him, puzzled.

"Just to go wash up so I can go to bed... you have things you need to do, and I'm just... I'm a distraction," you say, your voice soft.

He gets up off the couch and sweeps you into an embrace so tight that you're fairly certain that you can hear your ribs creak in protest. "No. You're staying right _here_ ," he says, and you are now sure that there's a hint of desperation there. You hug him back.

"Jim, what's wrong? I've never seen you like this," you say, not that you're complaining. He lets out a long sigh before he starts to speak, so quietly that you have to strain to catch the words.

"When you said you were mugged, seeing you hurt like this... I was so afraid that something else might have happened. Something worse. Something... that could have taken you from me. And it made me realize just _how_ important you are to me. I... I don't know what I'd do if I lost you..." he says.

Your eyes go wide. Oh my God... he loves you. He actually _loves_ you. You cling to him tighter. "James... I'm here. I won't leave you, I swear," you say, your voice slightly thick with emotion. Never, not _ever_ in a million years, would you have thought this would happen. Sure, you've dreamed of it, but you were always waiting for the day when he tired of you.

He lets out a long sigh before he releases you. "Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up. Then I have a bit of work to do," he says. He leads you into the bathroom, having you take a seat on the edge of the bath while he cleans out the cut on your cheek, the sting of the antiseptic making you hiss. He's very gentle, which is nice especially when he washes out your palms and knees, still skinned raw from your trip and subsequent fall to the pavement. "Go take a nap, darling," he murmurs, and leads you to his room.

Your eyebrows go up all the way. He usually _never_ lets you sleep in his bed, only if he's too tired to get you to move after you have sex. You look at him hesitantly, and he nods and gently nudges you to it. He leaves as you shuck off your shoes and socks and get comfortable, the blankets and the scent of him enveloping you as he shuts the door quietly and starts making phone calls.

oOoOo

You sleep for what must be a good two to three hours, waking blearily to the gray light that streams in through the windows. You pad out of his room to find your purse sitting on the counter, with everything in it. You gasp and make sure; yes, it's _your_ purse, and nothing is missing, not even the half-pack of mints at the bottom. You grin and go look for Jim so you can properly thank him, but he's nowhere to be found. The door to his office is closed, though, and you can see a light underneath it. You hesitantly raise your hand to knock, and just as you're about to, the door opens and Jim starts a little to see you. He smiles though, when you throw your arms around him.

"I take it you found your purse, then," he murmurs and you nod.

"Thank you for getting it back," you say. He hums in response.

"Oh, and you have your job back. I... ah... called in some favors," he said, and you look up at him with wide eyes. He gently disentangles himself from you and makes his way to the kitchen, where he starts to pull things out of the refrigerator. "Your favorite is still stuffed shells, right love?" he calls over his shoulder. Your jaw hangs open. He's gotten your purse and job back, and now he's making you your favorite dinner? Oh my God. You set the purse down and hug him so hard that you hear him grunt in protest.

"James Moriarty, you are a brilliant man," you murmur. He grins, the expression cocky.

"Like I don't know that," he scoffs. You chuckle and smirk, bringing his mouth down to yours to give him a long kiss. He breaks it first.

"We'll have time for that later," he says, his voice huskier and you nod, feeling a shiver run up your spine. You help him cook (despite his protests) and the meal is done in a lot less time than it normally takes. He even has a bottle of your favorite red breathing out on the counter. He insists upon serving the food, and you tuck in. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head; you should let him cook more often, because this is quite possibly the best you've ever had. You tell him so, and he smirks.

"I know," he says, and you stick your tongue out at him, making him chuckle.

As you both eat, you notice that he's been unusually quiet. "Penny for your thoughts?" you ask him. He shakes himself from his reverie.

"I'm still coming to grips with just _how_ much you mean to me," he says quietly, and your face suddenly burns. Hearing him speak like this, so tender as opposed to his usual manic intensity, sets a fire aglow in your belly.

"And... and how much do I mean to you?" you have to ask. He looks you in the eyes, his deep brown ones focusing entirely on you.

"I would tear this world apart if it meant keeping you with me," he says, and the intensity is back. Your skin suddenly prickles into goose bumps, and you stand. He does as well, looking a bit confused as you round the table and stand in front of him. You wind your arms around his neck and bring his mouth to yours. You kiss him fiercely, pouring out your feelings for him, tasting the smooth wine on his tongue. He hums a satisfied moan in his throat and starts gently pushing you backwards. You stumble and fall, only to be caught by the plush surface of the couch. He's over top of you, caging you with his body. He barely waits two seconds before his lips are at your throat, kissing and sucking dark red love-bites into the skin there. You gasp and arch into his touch as you pull him closer to you, one of his legs in between yours.

He rumbles a low groan in his chest as he rocks his hips into yours, letting you feel his burgeoning arousal. Your sex suddenly grows slick as you feel just what you're doing to him. His hands are suddenly at the hem of your shirt, guiding it over your head and tossing it over to the side somewhere. He makes equally quick work of your bra, until your torso is bare to him. He lowers his mouth to your breasts, taking small mouthfuls of the sensitive skin there. Jim slowly makes his way to your nipples, taking one into his mouth and gently suckling it into a firm peak before switching to the other one, his clever tongue making you arch, writhe, and keen underneath him.

You wrestle with his shirt until you manage to get it off and fling it aside. You move your hands over the smooth expanse of skin on his back, dragging your nails over it just enough to leave faint red marks. He shudders and groans into the flesh of your breasts which makes your eyes flutter shut for a moment. When you open them again, he's working intently on your jeans, unbuttoning them and dragging down the zipper before tugging both them and your panties down, having you lift your hips so he can work them off of you. These join the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, and he smiles wickedly as he surveys you, laying spread before him, your chest heaving with panting breaths, eyes glazed over with want.

He moves down and kisses the inside of your knee before working his way steadily up your inner thigh, causing your breath to catch in your throat. He nuzzles into your sex, inhaling your scent, before he captures your clit in between his lips, suckling gently. You let out a short, sharp cry of ecstasy and buck into his clever mouth as his tongue drags along your wetness, darting down to taste you before flicking back up again to trace patterns into your sensitive skin. He stops just before you cum, and you whine, dragging his head up by the hair. He smirks, his face wet with your juices, and you kiss him, tasting yourself on his wicked tongue. He gently ruts into you, his trousers still on.

Well... that won't work in your favor, now will it? You fumble with them, lust making your hands tremble, until you finally manage to get them off of him. His cock is full and heavy-looking, twitching as he stares at you like he wants to devour you. You smile lazily at him, knowing exactly how it sets him off. He groans and takes the base of his erection in his hand, running the tip of him up and down your folds, but not entering you, merely gathering slickness before the penetration. When he finally does make his way inside you, you gasp. He's foregone the condom this time, and it feel so damn _good_ to have him inside you that your nearly go over the edge just from feeling that skin-to-skin contact.

Slowly, Jim starts to roll his hips, moving in and out of you in languorous movements. He's being impossibly gentle and tender, which is quite the change-up of the animalistic fucking that you're used to with him... so this sensuous _love making_ is setting off a slow burn. You whimper and move with him, the sensation of being filled and then emptied in agonizing degrees building you to a peak more rapidly than you thought. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he moves in you, creating a deeper connection that just the physical one. However, he can't keep the slow pace for much longer and he starts snapping his hips and moving faster, that animal side coming out to play as he starts to nip at the junction where your neck and shoulder meet.

In a few more minutes, you're gone, keening as the length of his cock drags over your g-spot, causing you to see bursts of white flames behind your eyelids. You clench and spasm around him which tips him over the edge and he comes hard inside of you with a sharp gasp and a moan of your name on his lips like a prayer, filling you with his hot seed.

You hold him close as you both come down, panting, breathing each other's breath and covered in each other's sweat. You smile and laugh softly, as does he, cuddling on the couch, not wanting to move, as you both drift off to sleep, still entwined with one another.


	54. Mine, All Mine- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be no doubt by the end of the night exactly who you belong to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my requests on Day 1 of getting kicked by the red ninja. I wanted Jealous and Possessive Jim...

You're at a fancy party: ties and tails, surrounded by elegance and luxury, fine silks and satins, gorgeous dresses and suits. You're clad in a black dress that falls off your shoulder, red and silver accenting the darkness... as well as reminding the partygoers who you're with: James Moriarty, king of the criminal underworld. However, this doesn't deter the few very brave (or exceedingly stupid/drunk) from trying to catch your attention. And you have this one particular man who is consistently following you around. He's handsome and funny, you'll give him that... and he's persistent. You laugh at something he says, his hand on your arm as he chats you up, grabs another glass of champagne for the two of you from a passing tray.

You choke slightly on your drink when your eyes meet Jim's from across the room. He's _glaring_ , looking like thunder. He swiftly crosses the crowded space and takes your arm.

"Please forgive the intrusion, but we're _leaving_ ," he says, acid in his voice as he drags you away. He pulls you from the room and into a dark corner of an unused hallway, the light from the distant party reflecting in his eyes, eyes that are focused on you. "What was _that_?" he asks, his lip curling into a snarl. You sigh. You love Jim, you really do, but he has the bad habit of getting jealous.

"He was just _talking_ , Jim. That's all," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. He growls and stalks towards you. You move backwards instinctively, hardly noticing it when your back hits the wall.

"That wasn't just talking. You should've seen his face; he was drooling over you, pawing at you..." he hisses, his eyes flicking down your figure. Your breath catches in your throat. Jim at his most dangerous is also Jim at his most ardent. He presses into you, pinning you there. "I'm going to fuck you here, against the wall. Make the room ring with your screams, screams loud enough for _him_ to hear. Remind you that you are _mine_ ," he purrs into your ear and you whimper, arching against him. The way he could undo you with that Irish brogue just wasn't fair. He unzips his trousers and hikes up your dress, shoving aside your knickers as he finds his way into you roughly. You're already soaked from what he promised, his cock entering you with ease.

"So wet and wanton for me already... my perfect little _bitch_ ," he hisses as he thrusts roughly against you. You keen as he hits that spot deep inside you that makes you see blue-white-orange stars behind your eyelids. All too soon, the both of you reach your peak, you moaning his name as you shudder and arch and clench around him, him spitting filthy curses as he spills himself into you. He pulls out, but not before making a large love-bite on your neck, prominent, where everyone will see.

"We're going back to the party... and everyone will know _exactly_ who you belong to," he says, a hand on the small of your back as he guides you from the room back to the crowds. Yes, everyone will know who you belong to... and you will have that reminder again when you reach the flat tonight.


	55. As Promised- Greg and Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you remember Greg's promise to you last night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by xmelx: Also, now I want to know what happens in the morning....  
> *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*  
> Because you can't end on a line like that....  
> Nope.  
> It's cruel and unusual punishment, which I enjoy, for a little bit.  
> *giggle*  
> I think you broke me.

The first thing you're aware of when you wake is that someone is kissing you.

A pair of very soft, warm lips are lazily trailing up and down your throat, an insincere tongue licking stripes up the other side... _wait_.

You come fully awake with a moan, shivering as you feel teeth scrape across your skin. Something brushes your lips and you open your mouth, a mint placed on your tongue. "So you won't have to brush."

The voice is rough and gravelly from sleep and your eyes make out the blown pupils of one Greg Lestrade. His face is one big leering grin, excited and curious and clearly thinking _very_ dirty thoughts about you. All the heat in your body pools between your naked legs... _oh_. The night before rushes back and you blush brilliantly. His grin widens.

"Now, now Gregory. Starting without me?"

Rolling over, you see one very naked and aroused Myc Holmes lying on top of the covers. Your mouth starts to water at the smile he gives you.

"Do you remember my promise from last night?" Greg's voice makes you shiver again. Before you even make it out of bed this morning, he's promised to make you scream.

The taste of mint permeates your mouth, and you can smell it on their breath. Greg is sucking on your neck again while Myc pulls the sheets down to your belly, baring your breasts. The cop (because you're sure that's what he said he was) brings a free hand up to your right nipple at the same moment that Myc's lips close over your left. You can feel calluses on Greg's fingertips, rough on your sensitive skin while the taller man's teeth and tongue tease you without mercy. You arch off the bed, whimpering their names, breath sobbing in your throat. Greg kisses up to your ear, his tongue tracing every whorl.

"Now then. Where shall we start?"

 _His accent gets even thicker when aroused_ , you note, turning your head to try and capture his lips, but he thwarts you, his smirk infuriating as he tweaks your hard nipple and draws a squeak from your lips.

"Oh no, no, no," he growls. "You'll be doing as _we_ say this morning. For example-" shifting in the bed, Greg's prodigious arousal grinds against your thigh, "I had a dream last night that you were riding us both. D'you think you've been good enough for us to let you?"

Groaning, your head sinks back against the pillow. " _Yes_ ," you breathe, but Myc is tutting against your skin, finally releasing your very sore nipple.

"I don't think she is, Gregory."

The silver-haired man raises an eyebrow at Myc whose eyes spark with intelligence and want.

"What better way for her to prove her desire for us than to touch herself while we talk to her, hmmm?"

Your eyes snap open and you stare at him, mouth instantly dry. His smirk widens as the infuriating ginger-haired man tugs the rest of the covers down, clearly eyeing your sex.

"Well, she's certainly wet already," Greg murmurs, obviously wanting to go down and sample it for himself, but a look from Myc keeps him in place. The taller man lays back down next to you, his lips on your ear.

"Remember how I felt last night inside you? Pounding into your heat until you came for me twice? Remember how you came with _my_ name on _your_ lips. I want you to touch yourself, pretend that _I_ am doing it."

Your hands slide down your body as your fingers brush over your clit, two of them easily slipping inside your sex. You're unable to help the wanton moan that escapes your lips.

"Faster, luv. I'm the one touching you now, lapping at your clit with my tongue, teasing it in circles. Spread your legs a bit more, _that's_ a good girl. D'you like that? The way I'm tasting you right now?"

 _Oh gods above_. " _Greg_ ," you keen, speeding up as you suddenly ache for release.

"Not yet, darling."

"But _Myc-_ "

"Stop," he hisses. You obey, whining in frustration. The noise soon changes to a whimper of desire as each man takes one of your hands and proceeds to lick and suck your fingers clean; their mouths are hot and very wet, and you're squirming where you lie, rubbing your legs together in search of relief. With a rather obscene pop, Greg releases your fingers and slides down your body, hovering over your sex.

"I didn't really get to sample this last night. Oh, look how wet you are. Is this all for me?"

He's a bloody fucking tease sometimes. "Yes!" you almost scream, Myc's tongue lapping at the spaces between your fingers.

Greg's brown eyes twinkle, and then he lowers his mouth to you. The tip of his tongue circles your sensitive bud almost lazily, lapping at it before sliding down to your folds. It's almost as amazing as his cock had been last night-

"Your mind wanders, darling, but I'm sure we can fix that." Myc's voice makes your heart speed up. "Fingers, Gregory. I think she has several in her this morning."

His words have barely registered in your brain before the silver-haired man is sucking hard on your clit, tugging with his teeth while pumping and curling two fingers in you, bringing you over in a matter of minutes. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, the fire in your belly seeming to burst as you shudder and tense. Myc has you in his arms as you come down, kissing your forehead; Greg joins soon after having wiped off his hand and face. He _finally_ claims your mouth in a rough kiss, growling as he makes sure you taste yourself on his tongue.

When Greg breaks the kiss, Myc instantly swoops in, snogging you breathless while the other runs his fingers through your hair. "I want her, Mycey."

"Get the lube then, Gregory."

You're gasping for air as Myc answers while Greg scrambles for the supplies, diving back on the bed and arranging you just as he wants you: on your belly. Myc begins to massage your scalp as Greg gently works your arse open with his fingers. You realize that you're a bit sore as he works, but soon the muscles relax and you take two fingers without trouble; then he adds his tongue and you're fully aroused and keening, rocking back against his mouth. He chuckles, giving you one final swipe with his tongue before tearing open a condom packet, chucking one to Mycroft as well.

The taller man helps lift you up and into Greg's arms as he guides himself inside you. It's slow going, your muscles clenching for a few moments before you're able to relax enough and let him all the way in, but when it's done, you're seated in his lap, firmly impaled on him. He makes you watch as Myc rolls on the other condom and kneels before you. "Ready, Gregory?"

You can feel his smirk even though you can't see it. "You bet."

Suddenly, Greg leans up on his knees, slipping just that much deeper into you, leaning forward and... you're unable to watch as he helps slide you down on to Myc, the ginger-haired man sheathing himself in your sex until both of them are kneeling, hands at your hips and just under your arms where they are draped around Myc's neck.

It takes a few minutes before they get a proper rhythm going, and this is even better than the night before. Both of them are so deep in you, hitting completely different spots than you're used to, that every breath you draw has a moan or a whimper attached to it. Myc lavishes your neck with his mouth while Greg takes up residence at your ear.

"Even tighter-than I-remembered," he growls, breathing heavy and hot against your skin. "Ever so-slow, bet you're-burning for us-aren't you? You taste-divine, by the way-tangy-sweet-" His hands on your hips tighten a bit, using his leverage to work you on him. Your arse burns from the tension of the position, but the both of them feel fantastic inside you, rubbing and stroking and filling you... but it's just not fast enough or hard enough to really get you off.

Myc notices first, nipping your damp skin as he drops his fingers to you, and rolling his hips up with a snap instead of the languid pace you had going. Greg takes the hint and begins thrusting harder as well, grinding against you. "Closer now-aren't you? You like how-we fill you? Are you-thinking about-last night while we fuck you-right now?"

"Ohgod, _yes_ ," you moan, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. It won't be long now; you can't last much longer before you explode. Myc tweaks his fingers and rolls your clit between them, yanking you to the edge and holding you there. Your breath begins to hitch and you cry, "PLEASE!"

" _Cum for us_ ," Greg snarls, biting at your neck.

One last flutter of the taller man's long fingers, and you're lost, screaming and babbling as your vision vanishes in a flash of white light. You're barely aware of what they're doing, shifting you until you're hovering over Myc and Greg's driving into you from behind. He comes next, cursing as he fills the condom.

The ginger-haired man is last to finish, thrusting upwards with short, quick strokes. Greg adds his fingers to you and helps pull you over once again as Myc climaxes. You very nearly black out as you collapse on the pale man beneath you.

Very slowly, the two men dispose of the condoms and help pull you up into a sitting position between them, cradling you in their arms. Greg nuzzles your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Told you."


	56. Of Tongues and Jealousy- Sherlock and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never had any idea that your boyfriend would get hot hearing you talk about Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ally: I love this fic. You're like the kink fairies! I'd love some more Johnlock threesome. Maybe John is dating you, and catches you admiring Sherlock, and you think he's teasing til you realize how hot he gets when you talk about Sherlock
> 
> Meganbobness: I'd love to see some rimming anybody. Sucking John and Sherlock off and then them doing cunnilingus on you at the same time.
> 
> Yes, well, we kink fairies are here to serve. This is laced with Johnlock, just as a heads up. And Meganbobness, I've tweaked yours slightly, but you shall have rimming, my dear.

You're out on a lovely date with John at this little cafe in the middle of London when his mobile goes off. You know two things instantly: one, it's Sherlock, and two, you'll be finishing this date at a crime scene. While your (really adorably cute and hot) boyfriend answers his flatmate, you pick up the bill and help him into his coat. He realizes you've paid once you're in the cab and insists on paying you back. You blush pink as he slips the notes into the pocket of your jeans, not even waiting for you to get your wallet back out. His fingers linger in your pocket, and you tilt your head slightly away from him. John gets the idea and proceeds to kiss, lick, suck, and nip at your neck until the cabbie drops you off at the crime scene, an apology for cutting dinner short.

You've only heard stories from John about working with Sherlock and the Yard, and you're extremely curious as you hop out of the cab, resisting the urge to tug your scarf up over the love bite now prominently displayed on your neck. You don't regret it when John glances over at it and grins, winking at you before crouching down to examine the corpse. Sherlock is rushing around, deducing things as usual, and it is several minutes before you realize you haven't moved. In fact, you're staring at the detective with your mouth hanging open.

He looks ethereal in the evening light of the street, his mouth spewing long strings of information that makes sense as soon as he says it, punctuated by John's occasional "Brilliant" or "Amazing." As the younger Holmes begins to wrap up the case, John looks back at you and notices you staring. He's by your side a few seconds later, calling back to Sherlock that he'll meet him back at Baker Street (person tripped and fell and died. Not worth anyone's time and Sherlock is making sure Lestrade is aware of that).

Once back inside the cab, John turns to you. "Sleeping with me while pining for Sherlock?" he asks, his tone light even though you can tell he's more than a little jealous.

You roll your eyes and give him a look. "I wouldn't cheat on you, silly. Besides, _you're_ the one I'm in love with."

"Then why were you staring?"

"Why should I tell you? You'll probably get even more jealous and think it's more than just a crush."

"Well, think about it. If I'm jealous..." he whispers, pressing a kiss to your ear, "then I might just want to _reassert_ myself tonight."

You swallow hard, taking a sharp breath in through your nose at his words, deciding to try and explain. "Do you even _see_ your flatmate, John? Sherlock is... god, he's _otherworldly_. He's like some elfin prince from a fairy tale come to life with his cheekbones and curly, dark hair, and the way his coat swishes around him when he walks, his long, pale fingers flying over his mobile... just imagine what those fingers could do, and his voice... oh god, his voice. His voice that says everything so cold and yet so fast and clear, his eyes that can take you completely apart with a single glance, his shirts that are practically fit to explode because they're so tight..." You trail off, realizing this might not be the best course of conversation to be having with your boyfriend, but one look at John shows you've had quite a different effect on him.

Yeah, right, John Watson is completely straight.

He's currently trying to hide the fact that he's getting aroused in the back of the cab, rather unsuccessfully you might add. He glances at you a bit sheepishly, causing a smirk to tweak the corner of your lips. You lean in, your mouth just brushing his ear.

"You should see the way he looks at you too... like you're his whole world... he's very clearly into you but won't say anything... might be shy, might be worried you'll leave... but you've heard the way he speaks, seen his mouth move and his voice spill such intelligent thoughts... I know _I_ wouldn't be opposed to running my hands through his dark curls."

John's really biting his lip now, swallowing a groan; luckily, you pull up in front of Baker Street right then, and he's able to chuck a note at the cabbie before you both head on into the flat.

Somehow, you have no idea how, but somehow Sherlock has beaten you back, and he's clearly waiting for you both. One glance of those pale eyes over you both seems to tell him what he wants to know; John blushes as his flatmate's eyes stare unabashedly at the bulge in his jeans for a few seconds.

"I'd like to propose something, Sherlock."

The detective's gaze snaps back to you. "Oh? Judging by what it seems you discussed with John on the way back here, it has to do with me."

 _Such a clever man._ "Yes. It does. In fact-" You shrug out of your coat, "I was just telling John what _exactly_ it is about you that I keep staring at."

The doctor shoots you a look, but you just take his hand and squeeze gently. You see him summon his courage and look back at his flatmate. Something seems to happen between them, some kind of unspoken conversation that causes Sherlock's eyes to go very wide.

"You can't be serious."

"I am, Sherlock," John replies evenly. "And, quite frankly, I'd rather just go ahead with it than tiptoe around it for the rest of our lives. Besides, never would have realized anything if my girl here hadn't been staring at you like she wanted to eat you before."

You glare at John and he smiles back, clearly more all right with this situation than you thought. Your mind starts to wander about what he might have gotten up to in his army days, picturing him naked in the showers while another soldier gets down on his knees...

John calling your name snaps you out of your reverie, and you realize your pupils must be really blown from the look he gives you."I want you both," you say in a rush, blushing furiously, but it's out there now.

"I do believe that can be arranged." Sherlock's reply makes your knees weak, the detective slowly crossing the room to stand by you and John.

"I have a request though," you add.

They both raise their eyebrows at you.

"Before you do anything with me, well, whatever you want I really should say, you both have to kiss. And not a peck on the lips, I mean full on snogging." You've never told John how hot you get watching two guys going at it or that in addition to the fantastic sex with him, you also take care of yourself with a fair bit of gay porn when he's not around to help. Call it a secret kink, fantasy, what have you, Guy on guy is fucking awesome.

Sherlock glances from you to John and back again. "Fine."

oOoOo

Through your insisting, the three of you head into Sherlock's bedroom before anything gets going, shutting and locking the door to prevent any interruptions. You toe off your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, looking expectantly at the two men. John takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, looking at Sherlock. "All right then."

"John-"

"What?"

"Don't do this because you feel obligated to... please." He looks almost vulnerable, not something you've seen on his face before. "Do this because you want to."

You realize just how much this might mean to Sherlock, and part of you suddenly doubts whether or not this was a good idea, but John simply takes two steps forward and gives his friend a hug, a tight, reassuring hug.

"I'm the thick one, remember? Just took my brain awhile to catch up with my body, Sherlock."

The detective looks surprised and delighted, a big grin lighting up his visage as he cradles John's head in his hands and closes the distance between them.

It's very slow at first, almost hesitant as they both get used to each other, the kisses fairly chaste and exploratory as they learn each other's lips, nibbling and licking, John tracing Sherlock's cupid's bow with his tongue and causing the man to groan. The blonde deepens it then, taking advantage of the younger man's surprise to slip his tongue between Sherlock's teeth.

The detective _likes_ that and starts kissing back in earnest, his hands stroking John's cheeks as your boyfriend's hands bury themselves in the taller man's dark, curly locks. They're kissing in earnest now, Sherlock rumbling in approval as he slowly takes the lead over from John. He appears to be devouring the shorter man's mouth, and John's certainly not complaining.

A soft whimper escapes your lips to alert you to how hard you're pressing your legs together. The detective hears it and breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. He gives a breathy chuckle as he rests his forehead against John's; your boyfriend, you note, is clutching at Sherlock's sleeves as if his life depended on it. "So... the voyeur needs a bit of help then?" He looks at you, revealing how dark his eyes are, the silvery blue forced to the edges, and you are sure John's are the same. You nod, aching for any kind of touch, for release.

"Wh-why don't you put your t-talented tongue to work, then?" you whisper.

Sherlock raises one dark eyebrow, eyes burning with anticipation and fire now. "I think that is more than agreeable. John?"

The blonde looks at you now, pure want in his gaze. " _Definitely_."

oOoOo

You're not sure how much later it is that you're stripped and naked on Sherlock's bed, both men looking at you as if trying to decide what to do. John whispers something in the taller man's ear, getting a quick laugh and both of them moving to kneel on either side of you. "Before you get our tongues, luv," John purrs in your ear, "we get to have a sample of yours."

You groan, his teasing just not fair. While John helps maneuver you to the best position, Sherlock takes your wrist closest to him and begins to kiss it, running his tongue along your veins and sucking each of your fingers into his mouth one by one. You writhe and squirm, moaning at the sensation as John presses the tip of his arousal to your lips. You open your mouth and lap at his head, watching his eyes roll back as you slowly take him in, sucking hard in retaliation for his teasing remarks. The ache in your center is so strong now it hurts.

You jump to feel Sherlock's long fingers stroking along your folds, easing them open ever so slightly only to withdraw them again. This goes on for several minutes until John pulls you off of him and kisses you deeply, softly growling. "Now do Sherlock. Go on. Make me _jealous_."

Unable to believe this is happening, you turn to the detective and give him a grin. He looks confused until you lean forward and take him in your mouth, never breaking eye contact. He looks shocked, surprised, then astounded as all of his nerve endings begin firing rapidly. You moan around him (more for John's benefit than anything) and begin bobbing up and down in his lap. This lasts all of about thirty seconds before John's pulled you off again, pressing your back against his bare body; you can feel his cock grinding against your arse. "Lie down, Sherlock."

The man obeys, clearly understanding more at the moment than you are. The detective's head by the foot of the bed, John helps you to lie down on top of the taller man, his erection at your lips once more. You've barely tasted Sherlock again before you feel not one, but two tongues on you, and the combined stimulation very nearly has you cumming.

Sherlock's tongue and fingers are merciless, teasing and tweaking in a thoroughly explorative manner. John on the other hand has your cheeks spread wide and is lapping at your hole, kissing your skin there, and fucking you open with his tongue. It's probably the dirtiest and hottest thing you've ever felt.

Redoubling your efforts, you work Sherlock over as best you can, swallowing him when he gets deeper in your throat, playing with his sac, pressing a finger against his perineum. That shoves him right to the edge, and you can feel rather than hear his groan of pleasure. Invigorated, you speed up, pulling him over and making him the first of the three of you to climax. You swallow everything he gives you, licking him clean, and then he decides to bring you over too, and it's his name you scream as you see stars.

When you can move again, you realize that John has pulled away and is standing next to the bed, staring at you hungrily. "Yelling out another man's name?" he asks, his voice sounding oddly strained.

You hear Sherlock chuckle. "Obviously. I _was_ the one to make her cum."

Your boyfriend drags you off Sherlock and pulls you over to the wall. He hasn't been this jealous since one of your old Uni pals tried to chat you up while you were on a date with the good doctor, and he looks even more so now.

"You're _mine_ ," he growls, thrusting into you easily, his mouth and fingers on your nipples, rubbing and pinching and tweaking them into hardness. You slam back against the wall with each thrust, rocking into him as best you can in his position. He soon abandons your breasts in favor of his hands on your hips, taking full control as he rams into you. You start gasping his name, begging for more, and he obliges, biting and sucking on the other side of your neck to leave a matching love bite to the one he gave you earlier.

As he runs the tip of his tongue over the bruising flesh, he shifts, driving so deep that he hits your g-spot and you're gone, crying and sobbing his name... but he still isn't done. John captures your mouth in a fiery kiss, speeding up and adding his fingers to your extremely sensitive clit so that you come a second time for him, bringing the blonde with you this time. He growls your name as he spills into you, filling you with his seed before slipping out, slumped against the wall. You sink to the ground as your legs give out, gasping for breath. It's then that you hear applause, and you realize that Sherlock is clapping.

"Well done, John," he says, eyes shining bright. "I should have you try that on me sometime."


	57. Cleaning- Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit from Irene has you cleaning your flat in the nude...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by RandomDancingMatryoshka: More Irene/Reader?
> 
> And yes, I am a total tease

It is several weeks before you hear from Irene again.

You're cleaning your flat, your hair pushed back from your face, sleeves rolled up, sweaty as you try to move the sofa and vacuum under it when you hear a knock at the door. Confused, you walk over and open it only to start blushing furiously.

"Am I interrupting?"

Her voice is every bit as silky smooth as you remembered, the smile she gives you a very knowing one. "I can always come back if you'd like-"

"No! I-I was just finishing up. Can always clean later."

A wicked gleam sparks in the Woman's eyes. "I have a better idea."

oOoOo

That is how you wind up completely naked and cleaning your flat while Irene looks on, sipping a lemonade and positively smirking. "Harder, dear. Musn't leave a single stone unturned."

"Yes, Miss Adler." There is nothing that says this should be as arousing as it is, but as long as the orders come from her, you'll do whatever she damn well pleases. It doesn't take long to discover that she loves you on your hands and knees, reaching with the vacuum extension to suck up the very stubborn dust in the corners. So intent are you in making sure this one tiny task is done that you don't hear her approach until she's slipped two fingers into your sex, making you squeak and bang your head on the dresser.

"Don't you dare stop, now."

"Y-yes, M-Miss Adler," you gasp, fighting back the urge to drool as you keep working. You haven't noticed the way your body moves when you do this until now, the repetitive rocking of vacuuming very nicely fucking you on her fingers. The Woman is purring your name and doesn't withdraw when you move to clean out the dust bunnies from under your bed. Her free hand trails down your arse, one perfectly manicured nail pressing just hard enough to leave a pale, white scratch on the skin. You moan, forcing yourself to keep going, moving your arm and body a bit faster, desperate for some friction.

She senses your eagerness. "Bring yourself off, then."

You redouble your efforts in earnest, rocking your body as hard as you can and gasping in relief when she adds a third finger to thumb at your clit. Within moments you scream her name and collapse to the floor, body shaking with the aftershocks. Irene kisses your cheek and strides from the room.

"Lovely show, darling. Thanks for sharing."


	58. BONUS CHAPTER 5: News- Andrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in the arms of your lover, Andrew... nothing better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Xenon: Andrew Scott fluff/smut
> 
> Ladycorvidae was feeling fluffy. She intended smut, but we got fluff. You know, one of those days.

You're the first one awake, the sheets tangled between your legs. You work them off, the temperature now too warm because of the body next to you in bed. Andrew puts out heat like a furnace; it comes in handy in the winter time. You pillow your head on his chest, listening to his breathing and his steady heartbeat. Smiling softly, you press gentle kisses there as he slowly wakes, his brown eyes blinking open.

"'Morning love," he murmurs, his Irish brogue heavier as he shakes the sleep out. You grin back.

"Morning, dearest," you whisper. You sit up and stretch, hearing his hum of approval as some of the skin of your back is exposed as your sleep shirt lifts up. "I'm going to go make tea; any particular kind you want this morning?" you inquire. He shrugs.

"Surprise me," he states.

You turn and see that Andrew's hair is sticking up in all different direction from the pillow, and you laugh. He rolls his eyes and tries to make it lie flat, which doesn't help much. You press a quick kiss to his cheek before you pad out to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and start taking out things to make pancakes. You hum as you work, adding the ingredients together and using a wooden spoon to stir, the bowl set on the counter. You hear footsteps behind you.

"Could you be a love and take out the griddle?" you ask him. He chuckles and does so, letting it clank on the worktop before plugging it in. The kettle shrieks behind you and you turn to shut it off, pouring the hot water into a squat little teapot and letting the tea leaves soak in their strainer. He takes a sniff of the aromatic steam.

"Earl Grey; my favorite," he says, flashing that contagious grin. You smile as he winds his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses your neck. You hum in pleasure, not stopping in your work, feeling warm, safe and comfortable. The late morning sun streams in through the windows, and you can hear the chirp of robins as they flit from tree to tree.

Breakfast is soon done, a minor disaster averted when Andrew tries to flip a pancake in the air (it missed the plate and landed on the floor.... and both of you nearly wet yourselves laughing) and you both eat together at the small kitchen table with your tea; he's going over a script and you're reading the paper. You look at him surreptitiously over the edge of the newsprint and swallow hard. _Now or never_ , you suppose.

"Andrew..." you say. He looks up, your tone of voice making him concerned. "Andrew... um.... I... do you..." He raises an eyebrow.

"Spit it out, love," he says. You snort briefly in laughter, but grow serious again. You take a deep breath.

"We're going to have a baby." He looks at you and blinks, his brown eyes wide with wonder.

"Say that again?"

You repeat yourself, frightened that he's going to be upset, that he doesn't want it. His face breaks out into a grin so large you're surprised that it doesn't split him in half.

"A baby... a _baby_! I'm gonna be a dad!" he whoops with joy, standing so suddenly that he knocks his chair over. He lifts you out of yours and crushes you to him in an embrace. Both of you are crying tears of happiness.

"How far along are you? D'you know what the gender is yet? When's the due date?" he asks, the questions tumbling out of his mouth. You laugh, wiping your eyes.

"About two months, we won't know the gender until I'm about five or six months along, and the due date is sometime in January," you tell him. He hugs you again then kisses you soundly.

"I can hardly believe it... a baby..." he half-whispers, looking at your still-flat stomach in awe. You grin, feeling like you could outshine the sun.

" _Our_ baby," you say. He grins back at you.

"Our baby," he repeats.


	59. Orders- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out you harbor a bit of a military kink...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cel and Meganbobness: I'd really like to see John using his learned captain authority from his military days with our lucky reader.

You slowly get over your laughter as you settle back into your chair. Your boyfriend, John Watson, has just told you about one of his more memorable cases with his best friend, the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes... something about a military lab, top-secret, to find.... a glowing rabbit named Bluebell. It turned out to have much more behind the pet rabbit's disappearance, like an old unsolved murder and the use of airborne drugs to make horrendous psychotropic hallucination about a large and very evil-looking Hound, but you have to laugh at how John imitates Sherlock.

"A military lab? How'd you get in?" you ask after you compose yourself. He chuckles.

"Sherlock nicked his brother's ID, and, well, it helped that I pulled rank on them," he said. You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? You went all military on them? Scared all the underlings running, I bet," you smirk. His face goes mock-stern.

"Watch your tongue, private, or I'll have you on KP duty for a month," he says, his voice edged in steel. You swallow hard and feel heat flare between your legs as you shift to relieve it.

"And if I don't watch my tongue... _sir_?" you say, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flash and darken, getting where you want this to go.

"Then I'll find a better use for it," he replies in clipped tones.

"I just bet you will," you quip. He growls.

"On your knees," he commands, and you find yourself scrambling to comply, looking up at him, your heart beating wildly in your chest. He undoes the button and the zip on his trousers, letting you see the bulge in his pants from where his arousal is already hardening. "Well? Show me what that _clever_ tongue of yours can do," he says.

You shiver slightly and then begin to mouth the front of his undergarments, feeling his cock twitch and jump as your lips caress it. Using your teeth, you gently tug his pants away and his erection springs free. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

"Well? Did I tell you to stop?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sir," you murmur, kissing the head of his length before taking it into your mouth, suckling on it and running your tongue over it. John groans and winds his fingers through your hair.

"Yessss... that's very good. Clever tongue indeed," he says, his voice a husky rasp. You hum in response and take him deeper, swallowing him all the way, letting the tip of him hit the back of your throat. He squirms and bucks as the muscles of your throat contract around him and you set up a rhythm, bobbing and sucking. After a minute, though, he moves away, taking himself out of your mouth with a slight popping noise.

"Bedroom. _NOW_ ," he growls, and you can see by the look in his eyes, he's half-desperate. You get up off your knees and move quickly, shedding your clothes as you go. He follows close behind, naked as you are when he closes the door behind you.

You're all over each other in a frenzy of hands and lips and tongue, not able to get enough of each other. He shoves you to the bed and cages you with his body, nipping and sucking a love bite into your neck. He finds his way into you and begins to pound away, each thrust hitting the depths of you. You lock your ankles around his hips as he moves, reciprocating. You cry out when you feel his mouth on your breasts, suckling your nipples one at a time. His pubic bone grinds against your clit, and it isn't very long at all before you shatter around him, coming with a cry of his name as your inner muscles flutter and quiver. He groans yours in response as he finds his release, his cock throbbing and jerking inside of you, coating your insides with his seed. He pulls out slowly as you both roll over and he draws you into his arms. You press kisses along his collarbone and he nuzzles into your hair.

"Thank you, sir, may I have another?" you say, and he laughs.

"At ease, private. You'll get another soon," he says, pinching your bum. You shriek slightly and join in his laughter as you cuddle, sated for the moment.


	60. The Best Boyfriend Ever- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really is a perfect day, just you and Greg...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrades_Lady: Yay, requests reopened!!! I have several; feel free to work more than one into a fill if necessary. No threesomes/multiple pairings--Lestrade/OFC only. Some of these I've used in my own fics, and I'm just curious to see someone else's take on them.  
> \--Lestrade on a motorcycle  
> \--Guitar-playing!Lestrade  
> \--I love Lestrade's hair. It looks so soft and touchable.
> 
> Requested by MofBaskerville: Reader and Lestrade with reader riding the DI like the sexy-ass stallion he is
> 
> Ladies, your wishes are my command

It's midday when you finally drag yourself out of bed, groaning to see the time; of course your boyfriend didn't bother waking you. Rolling your eyes, you stumble to the shower and let the water wake you the rest of the way. As you get dressed, munching on an apple, you think you hear music, but you shake it off, convinced it's your imagination... but then you hear your name.

Crossing to the window, you open it and look out, mouth agape as your boyfriend sits astride his motorcycle with his guitar, beaming up at you. Greg's leather jacket glints in the sun, and he has a very cocky smile on his face.

_"And I would walk five hundred miles_

_And I would walk five hundred more_

_Just to be the man who walked a thousand_

_Miles to fall down at your door."_ (1)

A squeal bursts from your lips as you dart away, grabbing your helmet and jean jacket and tugging on your cute black boots. Wallet in your pocket and keys in your hand, you tear out the front door as you tie back your hair.

Greg has already locked up his guitar and hands it to you. "Can you hold this for me, luv? I'm not done with it yet."

Raising an eyebrow, you can't quite stop grinning while you sling the instrument onto your back and climb onto the motorcycle.

"Hang on, luv."

Revving the engine, Greg rabbits away from the curb on your way into town.

oOoOo

He takes you to Hyde Park, strolling through the crowds until he finds what he is looking for. Sitting by a tree, he tugs you down next to him and reclaims his guitar. Pulling it from the case, he runs his hand along the strings experimentally before he starts to sing.

_"Picture yourself in a boat on a river_

_With tangerine trees and marmalade skies._

_Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly_

_A girl with kaleidoscope eyes."_ (2)

You lie back against the grass and close your eyes, his voice washing over you like a gentle breeze. When that song ends, he starts another:

_"Oh yeah I tell you something_

_I think you'll understand_

_When I say that something_

_I wanna hold your hand!_

_I wanna hold your hand._

_I wanna hold your hand."_ (3)

Giggling, you nudge his foot with yours, sighing in contentment. He serenades you for a long time, working his way through the Beatles before surprising you with a different group.

 _"Don't you know, don't you know that you're beautiful..."_ (4)

He handles Seabird effortlessly, the smile on your face radiant when he finally sets the instrument aside. You tug him gently down into your lap, his head on your thighs while you run your hands through his hair. It never ceases to amaze you how soft it is, and Greg is damn near purring as you massage his scalp and play with his hair. Slowly, you lean down and give him a gentle kiss. "Thank you for this," you whisper.

"This is just the prelude, luv," he replies, kissing you back.

You sit and snog for awhile, trading breaths and enjoying the slow slide of lips and tongues until Greg pulls away. "I want you, luv, and I'll not rest today until I've made you mine."

You swallow hard, stifling a groan as you scramble to your feet. He's smirking like he has a secret while you all but drag him back to the bike. " _You've_ been working all week, and _I_ fell asleep before you got home last night. If you keep me waiting much longer I'll have you right here in front of God and everybody," you growl, fixing your helmet and sitting behind him.

Greg turns to look at you, and his eyes are dark with lust, very little brown remaining. " _I'll_ be doing the having, luv."

oOoOo

You can't get home fast enough, and when he finally parks the bike in the garage, turns it off and shuts the outside door, you make a run for the door into the house. Greg snatches your wrist and yanks you back, his mouth centimeters from your own.

"Who said anything about going inside?" Your eyes widen as he gestures to the bike.

"You can't fucking be serious."

Your boyfriend's tongue darts out to lick his lips. "You're doing the riding now, _luv_." Tearing your helmets off, Greg seizes your face and kisses you, invading your mouth with his tongue. It strokes and teases, distracting you from his hands until they assert a good, firm grip on your arse. He grinds you against him until you are very aware of the bulge in his trousers. He releases you long enough to step out of his trousers and pants, keeping his boots and jacket on. Still smirking, he sits astride the bike with a raging erection, beckoning for you to come and join him.

Mouth dry, you strip completely, knowing how much he loves your naked body; you also let your hair down, shaking it out as you climb onto him. The bike seems a bit precarious until you get settled, noting the flash of pure love in his eyes before the carnal animal takes over. "Take me in, luv. Show me how much you love a good ride."

You run your hands over the jacket the still covers his torso before grabbing his shoulders, lifting yourself up, and sliding your folds along his tip. You're on the pill, and you're both clean, but you've not gone bareback before. The look on his face is priceless when you sink down onto him. He groans, the lack of a barrier already clearly affecting him. "Oh fuck. Oh Christ.. you're so _wet_ , luv."

"All for _you_ ," you whisper back, kissing him as you begin to move. You start off slow, testing your balance and the stability of the bike, but desire wins out. Still holding his shoulders, you rock and circle your hips, squeezing around him as your head falls back, very loud, wanton moans bubbling up from your chest. His fingers flex on your hips, guiding you sensually while his mouth busies itself with your nipples; Greg's name escapes your lips in a whimper when his tongue drags across the swollen nub. Your belly aches and burns, so wired for release, but there isn't quite enough stimulation.

"Fuck yourself on me, luv. Even more. You love my cock, don't you? How thick and hard it always is for you? You should see yourself right now: debauched, writhing, _gorgeous_."

Unable to wait any longer, you speed up, thrusting and grinding and pulling him deeper, nearly sobbing with relief when his fingers play with your clit, rubbing mercilessly until you're screaming, climaxing with Greg's name on your lips. You don't stop, clenching tight around his length as you continue to move, willing him to come even as you feel your heartbeat pulsing in your sex.

It takes a few minutes before he starts thrusting up, using his grip on your hips to fuck you harder and then he's filling you with his hot release, and your oversensitive body orgasms again.

The smell of sex is thick in the air as you hold each other, not wanting to let Greg slip out just yet. He presses kisses to your neck and shoulders, humming softly while you play with his hair the sweat dries on your skin.

"Happy anniversary, my luv."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers  
> (2)- Lucy in the Sky with Diamons by The Beatles (well, Sgt. Pepper, but still)  
> (3)- I Wanna Hold Your Hand by The Beatles  
> (4)- Don't You Know You're Beautiful by Seabird (FANTASTIC group)


	61. Other Side of the Glass- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Greg's certainly a voyeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MofBaskerville: Kind of weird but ever since the pilot I kinda wanted to see Sally Donovan on her knees. Lestrade is showing a visiting colleague around the Yard and they come across Donovan giving Anderson an amazing blowjob and Lestrade and colleague fuck while watching.
> 
> I didn't have the prompt in front of me when I wrote it, so it's tweaked a bit, but I hope you enjoy.

"Shhh," Greg growls, sealing his mouth over yours as he begins to thrust. It's really hard to stay quiet with your boyfriend and boss balls deep in your heat and pounding like crazy, but then you remember who's on the other side of the glass currently pressed against your back.

oOoOo

You are following Greg to discuss one of the current cases when you very nearly walk in on Sally and Anderson in one of the interrogation rooms. You pull up short, eyes wide at the sight of Donovan on her knees and sucking Anderson off like she's got the gold medal for it. You've completely forgotten Greg is there until he yanks you into the adjoining room. You can faintly make out their groans through the glass, and you can't stand 'fucking Anderson' because he's a prick, but it would appear your boyfriend gets turned on by anything to do with sex. The DI has you pinned against the one-way glass and your knickers off in seconds. You hear his zip and the ripping of a condom packet.

He takes you hard and fast, groaning softly against your neck. You bury your hands in his hair, tugging gently to bring his mouth back to yours, kissing almost desperately. He seems to really like that, grabbing your hips and rocking harder. You're so close, coming with a silent cry and pulling him over after.

You've never thought about doing it quick and dirty against the wall before, but now you're planning when you can ambush him next.


	62. Made My Day- Johnlock Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has come to terms with him and Sherlock and wants to try more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Areyoubeingshagged: Another Johnlock threesome

It's been six months since the night at the crime scene, and John as been lovely to you since; you haven't said anything the few times you've seen what you probably shouldn't have (and as far as you know, nothing else sexually has happened between John and Sherlock, but you have seen them snogging a few times, each one ended by John).

To your great surprise, Sherlock greets you when you arrive at Baker Street from your shift at Tesco; summertime sucks for you as a teacher, the necessity for income making you desperate for work. The sitting room is picked up for once, and the floor is spread with blankets and pillows.

"Are we having a sleepover?"

"Similar to that but there won't be much sleeping."

Intrigued, you drop your things in John's room and come back downstairs as your boyfriend walks through the door. The doctor greets you with a kiss and a smirk. "I have a proposition for you," he murmurs, trailing his lips along your jaw and up to your ear.

"What?"

"Well, been thinking about how hot you were that night, thought I'd risk the jealousy and we'd have another little threesome: you, me, and Sherlock."

John has to hold you up, your legs nearly giving way. You plant a huge kiss on his mouth, hugging him tight. "You have _made_ my day. How are we doing this?"

The detective clears his throat. "Actually, I was thinking I'd take you while John takes me."

oOoOo

Somehow in all of this, you're the first one naked, not that you mind. You figure that it has taken until now for John to come to terms with the last time something like this had happened, and anyway, you are perfectly content to watch him snog the consulting detective senseless; secretly, you hope you get to kiss Sherlock before the night is out. John is currently whimpering under the younger man's ministrations, Sherlock's tongue taking exactly what it wants. They finally part for air, John stepping out of his trousers and pants while Sherlock does the same. They turn to you, picking up condoms, rolling them on, and John takes the bottle of lube. "Hands and knees, Sherlock."

The detective, infuriating as ever, chooses to do so over you, hovering as if about to take you. John pops the cap and slicks his fingers.

You find yourself watching Sherlock through the whole thing, his face amazingly expressive as John slowly works him open. At first his brow is creased with pain, but it doesn't take long for him to relax, pleasure etched across his features. "John. Oh _John_." The next second, the detective gasps, shuddering.

"That's your prostate, Sherlock."

"I know what it is, John."

"Yes, but have you ever had something larger than fingers against it?"

Even your eyes roll back at those words, and you glance down to see his arousal straining and twitching. Once John is done preparing Sherlock and withdraws his fingers, the detective seats himself inside you with a groan, wiggling slightly to find a comfortable position. He's longer than John, but a bit thinner, and you moan, dropping your head back against the pillows; the taller man swoops in for a kiss that lasts all of five seconds before he breaks it, gasping.

"Relax," you hear John say, his voice a bit strained.

The detective does as he's told, a look of awe etched across his features as he takes John completely into his body. "So this is what all the fuss is about."

"Wait, Sherlock, are you a _virgin_?"

"Technically no, as you did give me a blow job six months ago."

You barely have time to register this before he begins moving slowly. It doesn't take long for you to realize that not only is John also rolling his hips in time with his flatmate's thrusts, but Sherlock is fucking himself on your boyfriend's cock every time he rocks back, and for the first time in your memory, Sherlock is speechless. He seems to be struggling to sort through all the sensations, so you pull him in for a kiss before whispering in his ear "Think later. Just _feel_ it."

Lo and behold he does, enjoying every motion and caress... that is, of course, until the doctor finds just the right angle to hit Sherlock's prostate with his tip. He does that two or three times and Sherlock very nearly comes, clearly struggling to stay in control. You bury your hands in his hair and kiss his neck. "Come on, Sherlock. _Let go_."

John starts snapping his hips while you clench around Sherlock, and he's soon gone, crying out a mixture of your names until he's spent and slips out of you and off of John, rolling over onto the blankets to catch his breath. John's still hard as he pulls off the condom, chucking it in the nearest bin. Wondering what he has in mind, you brush your fingers against your bud, trying to reduce the ache.

"Keep going. Make yourself cum for me."

Your eyes snap open to see John standing there and stroking himself. "Go on."

Swallowing, you do, rubbing and tweaking your clit with one hand while you slip two fingers inside of yourself. In moments you're on the edge, risking a glance at John. The look he's giving you is hungry, the fire in his eyes enough to send you over. You come with his name on your lips.

"Kneel," he growls.

Pulling yourself up, you kneel before him as he lets go. It's a very odd, warm, sticky sensation to have him cum on your face, but it's completely worth it when he kisses and licks it all off, whispering how amazing you are and how much he loves you.

"Love you too," you murmur.

"Hope that made your day better."

"You have no idea."


	63. Shower- Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's probably the best welcome home gift ever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mormoriarty: Seb or Jim sneak up on the reader in the shower

It's been an extremely long day when you finally stumble back into your flat, locking the door and dropping your things haphazardly on the floor as you make your way to the shower desperate to clean off the grime of the city. The people you work with are arseholes, and you are so sick of your boss hitting on you _even though_ he knows you have a boyfriend. Moron.

You get the water started as you step out of your knickers and unhook your bra, groaning in relief now that the fabric isn't digging into your skin anymore. Gently massaging the marks it left, you step into the stream... and start cursing. "FUCKING FREEZING!" you yell, scrambling for the hot water and then making it too hot, forcing you to jump out of the shower and stand, shivering, on the bathmat for five minutes while you adjust the temperature so that it won't freeze or boil you.

This time, the water is perfect, warm and relaxing as it beats down on your head and shoulders. With a deep sigh, you comb your fingers through your hair to work the water through before grabbing your shampoo. It's criminal how amazing this feels, fingers working the soap into your scalp and the lovely clean feeling your head has when you wash it free of the soap again. The conditioner is much the same, filling the room with the scent of flowers and fruit as it eliminates all of the tangles and leaves your hair silky to the touch.

"Mind if I join you?"

Startled, you shriek, struggling to stay standing on the wet floor of the shower. Strong arms catch and steady you, rough fingers rubbing your damp skin gently. Your infuriating, extremely hot, delectable boyfriend is standing in the rapidly growing pool of water on the floor from where the shower curtain is no longer keeping the water in the tub. He's shaking with laughter, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "S-sorry! Didn't m-mean to scare you!" he gasps.

You glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest as the air of the room hits your body; even with all of the steam, it still makes you cold. He notices, his mirth dying in favor of something else. You know that look, the one where his eyes go all dark and he starts licking his lips like he wants to eat you all up... well... his nickname _is_ Tiger.

You cock your head to one side, daring him with your eyes. In a flash, he's in there with you, the curtain pulled behind him; you realize that he must have been planning this since he's completely naked already and growing hard just from looking at you. He lowers his lips to your ear, rough, gravelly voice barely audible over the pouring water. "Woke me from my nap with your shrieking, came to see what all the fuss was about... decided I would have you right here, up against the wall... I'm the biggest you've ever had, aren't I? You're going to be so _sore_ when I'm finished with you."

Your eyes widen, the hint of role play easy enough to fall into. "B-better watch out. My boyfriend could snap your neck."

"Yes... but he's not here right now... is he?"

Groaning, you crash your lips together, nearly sobbing in desperation for a kiss. He snarls and takes control, fingers tangling in your damp hair. The water is running down his body in little rivulets while he snogs you breathless. Far too soon in your mind, he starts kissing down your neck, stubble rough on your skin as he licks the skin of your neck, laving it with his tongue. You moan rather loudly, tying to get a grip in his blonde curls as the water pours through them.

"Such a wanton little creature. I wonder what it will be like t'hear you scream."

Heat flares between your legs, legs that he wraps around his hips. The larger man braces himself easily in the small space, grinding against you, his cock trapped between your bodies and growing impossibly harder. You want him so bad you can barely stand it, keening when his tip finally nudges into you... but then he doesn't go any further.

"Why-did-you- _stop_?!"

"Because-" he licks your neck "-I want-" sucks a deep red mark to the skin "-to watch-" runs his teeth up your throat to your ear "-you _squirm_."

Struggling in his grip, you try to rock down on him, clenching and very soon begging for him to do something, anything. Linking your ankles behind his back, you try to tug him forward, but to no avail. After a few minutes, you slump in his grip, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You're not in control. This is for _my_ pleasure, little minx." He buries himself the rest of the way in you with a single thrust, growling rather loudly. "Keeping yourself tight and wet for me?" he purrs, starting to roll and grind his hips.

He really is the largest you've ever had before, your boyfriend completely in control as he works you repeatedly to the edge before backing off. You've never met another man who could do what he does to you, who can take you apart like this with a few words and a well placed tongue. He turns up the heat in the shower, filling the room with steam and making you sweat a little as he speeds up. The sound of skin slapping on skin combined with his voice in your ear is all you can hear, his mouth incredibly filthy and hot at the same time.

"The faces you make when I'm in you... like you're surprised... such a wanton little slut for me, aren't you.. you so want to cum, don't you... well... perhaps... _cum for me_ , minx... cum for me _now_."

With a scream, you're gone, shattering around him and holding onto him for dear life. He's quick to follow, getting in a few more short thrusts before he fills you with his hot seed, softening and slipping out.

You're half awake as he rinses you both down and turns the water off, toweling you both dry and then carrying you to the bedroom. He tucks you in and then crawls into bed, pulling your back against his chest and spooning you, his body warm and safe and solid and comforting.

"G'night, Sebby."


	64. Feast- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's sinful tongue is good for many things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by mormoriarty: -Jim eating the reader out (if you haven't already got that)  
> -licking chocolate/honey/anything of off the reader, or the reader doing this to a character

You're curled up on the sofa in the library in his flat and reading so intently that you don't hear him approach until he's tugging the volume from your hands and leaning over you, hands on the cool leather on either side of your shoulders. Almost instantly, your mouth goes dry.

"Didn't hear you come to bed last night," he purrs, his Irish brogue thicker than usual, dark brown eyes burning into yours.

"I-you-fell asleep here, didn't make it to the bedroom," you stammer, finding it incredibly difficult to string two words together.

"Well then... we need to make up for lost time, now don't we?" He moves as if to kiss you but skips over your lips, his mouth brushing against your ear and making you shiver. "Strip and stay here. I have to get something to make this a veritable _feast_."

Groaning, you shed your clothes while he's gone, deciding to play his game. You lay down on the sofa, stretched out with one leg hooked just over the top of the furniture and one of your arms pillowing your head. His grin very much resembles that of a shark when he returns, a bottle of something in his hand; upon closer inspection, you realize that it's chocolate syrup. Jim sets it on the floor and proceeds to strip every article of clothing from his body, folding them up neatly and setting them in a nearby chair. Taking his tie, he then proceeds to bind your wrists above your head, looping the fabric around a concealed hook in the wall.

Unable to move very much, you stare wide-eyed as he pops the cap and slowly drizzles the stuff onto your skin. He lets it trail down your chest, around your breasts, and then criss-crossing on your stomach with broad, sweeping strokes, ending with a tiny puddle in your belly button. Finally, he wipes off the nozzle of the bottle and brushes his finger across your lips, painting them with chocolate. Sucking his finger clean, Jim sets the bottle aside and kneels between your legs. "Don't move, and don't even think about licking your lips," he growls, lowering his mouth to your neck.

A very low, long moan escapes your mouth as he sucks his way down the trail, nipping at your skin and stopping a few times to leave very large love bites. His tongue laves the skin of your breasts, tracing around the base before flicking across your nipples, teasing them without giving you quite enough of the stimulation you crave. Smirking up at you, he then moves onto your stomach. The dark-haired man holds your hips tight while his tongue dances and skips around, sometimes licking off great, long strips of chocolate, other times lapping at a single spot until not a trace is left. Your belly button is last and he fixes his lips to the skin around it, sucking and licking, his tongue dipping into the small depression in your belly until you are very nearly screaming his name in frustration.

Crawling back up your body, Jim gives you his most infuriating smirk before claiming your lips roughly, growling and nipping while his tongue easily plunders and takes what it wants. You can taste the sweetness of the chocolate, the combination of that and him breathtaking. All too soon, he releases your mouth and is back between your legs.

Jim lowers his mouth to your sex, and then you are screaming. His tongue laps gently and teasingly at your folds, stroking them with the same concentration he had taken with the rest of your body before pushing past the outer muscles and slipping into your body. His hands slide under your arse and help you lift your hips a bit, giving him better access to you.

"Ah!! Jim-ohgod-ohplease-please-more-Ineed-Iwant-" You can barely speak, writhing and whimpering under the ministrations of his mouth.

Every so often, he licks up and sucks on your clit, teasing it with tongue and teeth until you very nearly come, denying you and going right back to fucking your sex with his tongue and lips. Finally, when you are sure you will explode if he doesn't finish you, he lifts his mouth away and sinks into you with one motion. He doesn't give you time to think or adjust to him, he just starts pounding into you.

Everything goes blue-white when you come; Jim seals his mouth over yours and swallows down every single sound before following; it would seem the wind-up really did a number on him as well. Panting, sweaty, trembling, and very sated, he collapses on you, apparently content to just take a nap right there. Normally you wouldn't mind, but...

"Jim?"

"Mmf, _what_?"

"Can you untie me?"


	65. A Different Game- Sebastian and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as you can tell, there is only one way out of your current predicament...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by mamasaidknockmeout: Missing scene from great game. Sebastian and Jim grab the reader to strap her into a bomb but she persuades them to let her go after mind-blowing sex. She sucks one off while the other is fucking her

You're huddled against the cement wall, quaking, the Sem Tex vest heavy on your body. The blonde who snatched you off the street is currently talking in hushed tones into his mobile. He hangs up soon after and turns back to look at you, his blue eyes clear even in the dimly lit room.

The door opens and another man enters, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. "Well then, pet, are you ready to play?"

"P-play what?"

He shakes his head, an easy-going look on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. "Play a little game. It's such good fun. You see, we-" he points to himself and the blonde "-put you on a street corner and train sniper rifles on you. You stand there for nine hours while darling little Sherly runs around and solves my puzzle. If he wins, you're free. If he loses..." The man's brown eyes seem to burn. " _Boom_."

You suddenly get an idea, one that might actually work; it helps that even though your fear, you can see just how extremely hot both of them are. "Well, I-I have an idea... for a different game. You like games so it might be more fun than this one."

The smaller man raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Very well, say it."

Taking a deep breath, you shove the danger to the back of your mind, kneeling on the floor now. "I was thinking that I could... be of use to you."

The larger man clearly understands, and from where you are, you can see his eyes darkening. The other (his Boss perhaps?) just smiles. "Go on. Say it, pet."

"You could use me... use me for your own needs and then decide."

He's still not satisfied. "If you want it, then you're going to have to beg for it."

 _Irish, his voice is Irish_ , you think. _The Irishman with burning brown eyes_. "I want you both to fuck me. Fuck me, _please_."

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? Sebby, the door." You head it shut and the bolt lock home as the Irishman walks forward. "If you're a very good little pet, then perhaps we'll let you go." He glances over his shoulder. "Strip her, Sebby."

The blonde (Sebby... short for what? Sebastian?) strides across the room and helps you to your feet, taking off the dreaded bomb and setting it aside before extracting you from your clothes. As your bra and knickers drop to the floor, you realize just how cold it is.

"Yes, it's wintertime, pet. It gets cold in winter. Now, on your knees. Show me what that mouth of yours can do."

Swallowing hard, you kneel before him, leaning forward to nuzzle his crotch. You start mouthing the fabric, his length easier to find the longer you work; it only takes a few minutes for him to get hard.

"Pull me out of my trousers then. I know you want to taste, don't you?"

Ignoring the sound of something ripping behind you, your hands come up and unzip his trousers, reaching in to free his erection. It bobs slightly between his legs, already leaking a bit from the tip. A large, rough hand slides down your back and helps nudge your legs apart, forcing you fully down on your hands and knees. Leaning forward, your tongue darts out and laps at the head of your captor's cock, drawing a small hiss of pleasure from the man.

"Veeeeeeery good. All right Tiger, go ahead."

Something presses at your folds and you can't hold back a cry. The blond is _enormous_ , thicker than you believed humanly possible, but he takes it slow; if his sounds are anything to go by, he's savoring just how tight you are. Once he's fully seated in you (GOD you feel full), a hand tangles in your hair and brings your lips to the other's cock.

"Suck me off, pretty pet. Show Jimmy how badly you want to be free."

Opening your mouth, you take him in, your tongue working the underside of the heated flesh. As soon as you start moving, so does Sebby, startling you with a balls-deep thrust that makes you shriek around the organ in your mouth. The fingers in your hair tighten slightly before working circles on your scalp, helping to guide you and show you what he likes. In just seconds, both men have a rhythm going, sliding you forward and back on their respective arousals.

By all rights, you should be bloody terrified, but it's been nearly eight months since the last time you've had sex, and you're really, really desperate. Jim seems to like it when you moan and whimper, always tugging a little harder when you do.

"You like this, don't you, pretty pet... how we move inside you... how hard we are... how we fill you, don't you? You're such a pretty little cockslut for us... I bet we can make you cum again and again... push you through your pleasure... and use you until we've had our own. Such a talented tongue... I'd love to see what else... that tongue could do... shall we teach you? Keep you for ourselves?"

The words seem threatening, but the _voice_... you have no shame in saying that the voice makes you hornier than the porn you watch in secret when no one is home. The blonde behind you starts to speed up, his thrusts harder and deeper than before; he even reaches a hand underneath you and thumbs at your clit. You very nearly spit Jim out, gasping and keening for release. He holds you there while Jim full on fucks your mouth, abusing your lips until with a shuddering groan, he comes. "Swallow... it all up... have a drink... little pet..."

You obey, licking him clean afterwards before releasing his now soft member. You realize Seb has stopped moving, and glancing up at Jim, he seems to regard you for a moment. "Well... I suppose you can. Take her, Tiger."

It takes you all of thirty seconds to climax, the blonde driving into you and teasing you bud so artfully that you cum twice in rapid succession, close to blacking out on the second one that pulls him over. When he finally stills and slips out of you, you slump to the floor, feeling marvelously well-fucked and exhausted. The adrenaline that had kept you going seems to be draining out your feet. Jim crouches by your head, smoothing your hair away from your face.

"Sebby will drop you back at your home... but I'm sure we'll be by to play again."


	66. Lessons- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've never been happier for a parent-teacher conference...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Areyoubeingshagged: Lestrade has the hots for his child's teacher :)

You sigh as you look over the list of parents who have yet to come in for a conference. The only one left is Timothy Lestrade's father; he'd had to reschedule his previous meeting time since he had an emergency at work and wasn't able to make it in. You can't blame him... he's in law enforcement after all, but you really want to get this over with and go home to that nice bottle of wine that you have sitting on the kitchen counter.

You hear a soft knock at your door and quickly change your mind; if this is Timothy's dad, then you don't _want_ to be going home any time soon. The man standing hesitantly in the doorway is _gorgeous_. He's fit, built like a rugby player, his silver hair slightly ruffled from the wind.

"Hullo. Mr. Lestrade?" you ask as you get up and walk over to usher him inside. He smiles and your heart stutters.

"Yeah, that's me! But please, call me Greg," he says, shaking your hand. You smile at him in return and gesture for him to sit at the table.

"Well, right to business. I don't want to keep you long... I'm sure you want to get home to your family after a long day," you say. He looks a little pained but smiles through it.

"The wife... er... my ex-wife... she has the kids this weekend," he says. You nod, feeling like a right and utter tit for opening your mouth. You plunge on ahead, though; with any luck, this will get over quickly.

"Tim is a great kid; he's very bright, especially in maths..." You go on, telling Greg where his son is doing well and where his work could use improvement (less time daydreaming during your writing lessons and paying more attention to his teacher and less to his female classmates). When Greg hears your comment about Tim being a lady-killer, he roars with laughter. It's an infectious laugh, and you can't help but join in.

"Oh my God, never thought he'd take after me like that!" he says once he gets a handle on his mirth. "Although, if I had you for a teacher, you wouldn't catch _me_ staring at other girls." He winks at you and you flush crimson, feeling your face heat up.

You bite your lip and, before you can lose your nerve, you slip him a scrap of paper with your mobile number. "If you want to go out for drinks sometime," you manage to say. His eyebrows go up briefly before he gives you that brilliant smile again.

"I'd like that very much," he says. You beam and shake hands, concluding the meeting.

oOoOo

You meet Greg a few nights a week over the next six months, and you steadily grow closer, sharing kisses and the occasional grope in the darker corners of the bars you frequent. One night, you get a text.

 _Still at work, love? -G_ You smile and fire back a response.

_Yes, unfortunately. Organizing before my paperwork completely swallows me up._

_Now /there's/ an image I'd like to see. -G_

_What, me getting eaten by paperwork?_

_No... you swallowing me up. -G_

Your eyebrows go up all the way and your face burns as you feel a flash of heat between your legs. You hear a soft knock at your door and look up to see him standing there, a roguish smirk on his face. You squeal in excitement and go embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck. He returns it, chuckling. You let go and back up slightly.

"You're horrid!" you say, mock serious, wagging a finger at him. He snickers and swaggers into the classroom, the door swinging shut behind him. He continues to advance until you feel the edge of your desk against the backs of your legs.

"Yeah, but you didn't say you were adverse to it, now did you?" he murmurs, dragging his nose up the side of your neck, taking in your scent. "God, you smell amazing... like ink and paper... and _you_. You're wet for me, aren't you, you naughty minx?" he says, the words rumbling in his throat. Your breath catches and you nod.

He groans and starts kissing the flesh where your shirt opens slightly. You tilt your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel him press against you. He's rapidly hardening against your leg, and you can't help but arch into him. He breaks the kiss, his brown eyes dark with lust.

"I'm going to fuck you, right here," he growls. You reply with a fierce kiss, your hands winding in his soft, silvery hair; you love playing with it, making him purr like some great cat. His tongue is clever, mapping out the contours of your mouth, learning the movements of your tongue. He breaks the kiss and turns you around.

"Hands on the desk, love," he says, and you do so, the motion causing you to bend at the waist slightly. He rucks up your skirt, and you can feel his hand against your sex, pressing into your knickers. You gasp as he presses into you, rubbing your heat through the thin cloth that covers it. "So hot and wet, and I've barely touched you. Dirty girl, this is getting you off, isn't it? Me having my way with you like some _animal_ ," he murmurs into your ear.

You whimper and nod, grinding against his hand. He removes it and you hear the rasp of his trouser zip coming down, then the sharp crinkle of a condom in its foil wrapper. He lowers your knickers and you step out of them. You keen softly as he spreads your legs, and you feel his length sliding along your folds. Slowly, he maneuvers his way inside you, groaning as your heat envelops him.

"God, you're so hot and tight... and so very _wet_. I've wanted you since we had that first meeting... wanted to be inside you, rutting into you as you moaned..." he breathes in your ear.

Your breath sobs in your throat as he starts to drive into you, using short, sharp thrusts. You can feel the roughness of his trousers and the slight prickle of the metal teeth of his zip as he pounds into you. Moving your hand up, you take down your hair, letting it tumble around your shoulders. He growls and winds his fingers into it, pulling, forcing your head back. He kisses his way along your throat as he brands you with his cock in a sweet, rough fuck.

The DI's other hand, previously on your hip, steadying you as he moved, comes up to fondle your breasts through your shirt and bra. He pinches and tweaks your still-clothed nipples and that sends you over the edge. You come in a blaze of light and heat, whimpering and whispering his name as you contract around him. He finishes with a guttural groan, your name on his lips as he empties himself inside the condom.

You help each other straighten your clothes, and you cast about for your knickers, but they've gone missing. You begin to panic; you can't run the risk of one of your students finding them, that would get you sacked for sure. You look at Greg, who is grinning. He takes your missing knickers and shoves them in his pocket.

"I figured I should take my homework with me," he says.

You raise your eyebrow and smirk.

"Yes. And if you don't return it... well, Mr. Lestrade... you'll owe me detention," you purr into his ear.

His resulting swallow and nod is quite enough for you. "Glad you understand. Now... class dismissed."


	67. 'Our Father'- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by thekeeperofsecretsandtelleroftales: I know I'm going straight to hell for this...But can the reader have some of Sherlock in that priest costume from chapter 32?

"Let me deduce your sins, my child."

You don't turn around, shivering as the taller man's voice washes over you. His hands are resting on your shoulders, his chest almost pressing against your back. "Please forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

"I know, my child. You have entertained impure thoughts about someone, someone close to your life."

"Yes, Father."

"You have touched yourself while entertaining these thoughts, screaming your sins to the darkness."

You swallow hard, knees trembling slightly; his grip on your shoulders tightens. Every word he says is hushed in your ear.

"You have imagined _me_ taking you, haven't you? Imagined me inside your body, pounding you without mercy, making you scream for me, shriek your evening prayers."

 _Oh, that's just not fair_. Squirming where you stand, you  fight the urge to clench your legs together even though you're desperate for friction.

"Have you imagined your mouth around me? Mine lapping and sucking on yours? My fingers in your hair? My mouth on your neck?" He grants you a single kiss on the side of your throat, and you can't suppress a soft moan.

" _Yes_ , Father."

"Well then... you have already sinned in mind but not in body... why not make it official?"

Sherlock has tugged you into the closest cupboard before you've even realized what he's said. He locks the door before shoving you against it, his growing arousal grinding into your belly. "I shall take you here, my child. You shall say your prayers standing, scream them if you can."

_Oh God. Oh Holy Mother of God._

The rasp of his zipper is extremely loud in the dark confines of the cupboard as is the crinkle of the condom wrapper. As soon as he's donned the protection, he hoists your skirt and pushes your knickers to the side. You're breathing heavily in anticipation until he breaches you, pressing in until you're completely around him, your darkest fantasies coming to fruition.

"Your prayers, my child," he growls in your ear, slowly beginning to thrust. Sherlock lifts your legs and wraps them around his hips.

"O-our Father... wh-who art in Heaven... H-hallowed be thy _name_!"

"Do not stop." His lips drop to your neck, licking and sucking at your pulse point as he goes even deeper into you.

"Thy k-kingdom come... thy will be _doneonearth_ as it is in heaven. Give us this day our... d-daily bread and forgive us our _trespasses!_ "

Your back starts slamming into the door with every few thrusts, your sex drenched and dripping from how completely turned on you are by the whole thing. Sherlock bites gently on your neck to remind you not to stop, to keep going.

"A-as we forgive... those who t- _trespass_ against us.

And lead us... not into... tempt- _temptation_ but... d-deliver us from... evil-"

"Finish it. Finish it and I'll let you finish, my child," he purrs in your ear. Your eyes start to roll back in your head, your mouth bone dry.

"F-for thine... is the kingdom... and the p- _power_... and the glory... for-ever... and ever-"

Your breath leaves you as you teeter on the edge. He's pounding into you now, grinding against your clit and holding you in place against the wood at your back. " _Finish it_!"

"AMEN!"

Your scream hurts your ears as you come, shattering like stained glass and pulling him over with you. Sherlock groans as he empties himself into the condom, breathing heavily when he slips out and cleans himself up. You sink to the floor, your muscles like jelly. He turns to leave but looks back at you, the hint of a smirk on his face.

"Ten more 'Our Father's' as penance, I should think. Good day, my child."


	68. Drugs Bust- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not at all how you thought your day would go, getting hauled in for questioning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Ally: Also I know Lestrade is sweet, but it was so hot in ASiP when he got all authoritative. Pretend drug bust with added sexytimes?

It's been a long day at work; you trudge home and find the door to your flat already open. Your heart jumps into your throat; were you robbed? Did your flatmate just forget to close the door again? Your questions are answered when you walk inside and find your friend, Greg Lestrade (a DI at the Met) with a group of uniformed officers, tearing the place apart.

"Greg?! What the hell is going on?!" you shout over the noise of things being pulled out of boxes and drawers. He looks at you and raises an eyebrow.

"Drugs bust," he says nonchalantly.

"A _WHAT_?!" you yell back, your face going white. You _know_ for a fact you have nothing to hide (well, except for your diary and the vibrator in your side-table drawer). "But... I don't... _why_?"

"There's been reports of some suspicious activity in this vicinity, and your flatmate has been seen hanging out with people identified as either dealers or addicts," he says. "I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station to answer some questions." He takes you gently by the arm, turning you around and leading you right back out of your flat.

You sit silently in the squad car and he escorts you to an interrogation room, the kind _without_ the two-way mirror. You're still somewhat shell-shocked by the fact that _your_ flatmate is thought to have drugs. She doesn't even like drinking, for God's sake, and you make sure to tell this to Greg. He raises an eyebrow and writes it in that little notebook of his. After a round of questions, you feel very worn out.

"Is that all, Greg?" you ask wearily. He pauses, as if in thought, then gets up, rounds the table to where you're sitting, bends and claims your mouth in a searing kiss, one that you can feel from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. You blink almost sleepily when he finally breaks it.

"Wha-?" you start to ask, but he holds up a hand.

"I've been wanting to do that for about two years," he says, his voice close to your ear.

You pause to take in this new information, then lose no time in pulling him down for another kiss. He growls in approval, his fingers tangling in your hair as his clever tongue dances with yours. You stand up so he isn't bent double any more, pressing against him. You can feel his arousal, hard against your lower belly, and you moan into his mouth. He shudders, breaking the kiss to nip his way down your neck. The feeling of his teeth on your skin makes you gasp.

Soon, both of you start fumbling with your clothing. He tugs down your jeans and knickers as you pull at his shirt. Your sweater is just pulled up to your chin, your bra yanked down so that your nipples are exposed. Greg buries his face in between your breasts for a moment before turning his head and taking a nipple into his mouth. You keen and your head falls back while he sucks hard, licking it roughly with his tongue.

He guides you to sit on the cold metal table before pushing you back to lay down on it, your legs hanging off the edge. He spreads you wide, his eyes nearly black with want as his fingers find their way to your sex, stroking your nub, which causes you to buck and arch into him.

"Please, Greg, _please_..." you beg. "Please take me..."

He snarls and nearly tears open his trousers, shoving them down his hips and taking you, sheathing himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. You lose your breath as he bottoms out, then starts moving with single-minded intent. You reciprocate as best you can, hooking your ankles around his hips as he pushes into you and pulls out, snapping his hips. One hand tweaks your nipples while the other trails down your bare torso to rub and roll your clit between his fingers. After a few minutes of this, hearing skin against skin, his grunts of exertion as he works above you, feeling his cock inside you... it's too much. You come around him with a gasp and a cry of his name. The feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him sends him over the edge and he spills himself inside you with a low moan, letting his hot seed fill you up. He slowly pulls out and cleans you up with a handy pack of tissues before you both start rearranging your clothing.

"So... am I going to have to find a new flatmate?" you ask. He actually looks embarrassed.

"Ah... about that... it was fake. I... um... I made it up so I could finally tell you how I felt, and, well..." he trails off, sheepishly.

You _should_ feel furious, but at the moment, you're feeling too well-shagged to care. "Well then. As long as they put everything back where they find it and are gone before seven... I can overlook it," you say, raising an eyebrow. "But if you do this again, DI Lestrade... I might want _you_ to come in for some questioning."

His answering chuckle and nod is all you need to see to know that he just might.


	69. Train Ride- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you bump into an old Uni buddy on the train...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by alongcamebronson: Reader is an old classmate of John's from Bart's and they meet on a train on their way to a conference. She has a first class train compartment and invites John over ...
> 
> As soon as we got this request, all I could think about was 'Parade's End.'
> 
> And if any of you have noticed, we cleared 100K words last night.

You've just gotten yourself a glass of wine from the dining car to help calm your nerves for the trip when you nearly bowl over the man standing next to you.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, I- _John_?! John Watson?"

The blonde man turns, his face confused for only a moment before he recognizes you! "Hello! Yes, sorry, bit spaced out there. God, it's been ages."

"I know, haven't seen you since graduation. Last I heard you were in the army."

"Yeah, honorable discharge, back in London but on my way to this stupid conference."

"You have to be joking. So'm I."

"Really?"

The two of you really get going then, comparing lives and ordering more drinks. It's a long trip, one that won't get you there until the next morning. Not wanting your time together to end, you invite him back with you. "I'm in first class, birthday present from my parents, paid all my expenses and things for the trip and upgraded my seat. So, it's a private room if you want to come back."

His grin morphs into a smirk. "Yes, I think I would. Like to come, I mean."

Flattered and blushing furiously and the innuendo, you lead him through the train to your compartment, shutting the door behind you. It's small but roomy.

"It's very nice, and you even have shades. How're the seats?"

"More comfortable than they look, I can tell you that."

He takes a seat, and you sit next to him, the conversation suddenly dying away. You realize that you've brought him back and some part of you is really hoping that things progress further; you've had the worst crush on him since you were both in the same Biology 101 seminar in Uni.

You start to feel his hand on yours, and glancing up, you find he's watching you. Another blush creeps into your cheeks, and you look away, squeezing his hand. He's so adorable now, his blonde hair in a military cut, his clothes looking nice, and he's clearly still very fit.

John leans over and hesitantly presses a kiss to your neck, repeating the action when he sees you go almost boneless in your seat. His hands slide around your body, holding you as he licks and sucks at your skin, eventually leaving a mark. Kissing his way back up to your ear, he whispers, "I wanted to do that in every single class we had together."

Shivering, you turn and meet his gaze, blatantly staring at his mouth. "I've had the biggest crush on you for years, John Watson."

"Well... shall we make up for lost time?"

"Oh _GOD_ , yes," you breathe, and you close the distance between you, kissing him hard. John's fingers tangle in your hair and hold you close while he pries your lips open and explores your mouth with his tongue. In seconds, you're straddling him on the seat, rocking against the blonde doctor and cradling his face in your hands. He grows hard in moments, and you can feel him through the fabric of his jeans. "Need you _now_."

Pushing you away, John yanks his trousers and pants down to reveal his erection, hard and straining. Yanking you back, he hikes up your skirt and tugs your knickers off in one motion. You fumble in your purse for a condom, rolling it on his length before he helps pick you up and seat you on him, going slowly until he's buried to the hilt in your heat.

"Oh, _John_ ," you groan, rocking against him, bracing your knees on the seat on either side of his legs. Crashing your lips together once more, he helps you, his hands firmly gripping your bum and guiding you. It doesn't take long before he speeds up, thrusting hard into you and making you whimper against his lips. He's grunting every time he moves, his voice rough and lower than usual.

"So-fucking-hot-and-wet-for-me. Should've-done this-in Uni. Bet you-can cum-for me-gorgeous."

He drops his hand to thumb and tweak your clit, and you climax, crying his name and riding him harder until he cums, filling the condom with a groan. Panting and sweating slightly, he holds you close to his chest, cradling you in his arms and pressing feather-light kisses to your face. "That was fantastic. Stupid conference'll be way more enjoyable now."


	70. One Month- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just swallow your pride and /call/ him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Raspberry_Blonde: Narrator/Reader and John have broken up, they miss each other and have hot, romantic makeup sex

Its early morning; you wake up and stretch, rolling over to say 'hullo' to your boyfriend. It's only when you encounter the cool side of the bed that reality sinks back in. You've been broken up with him for nearly a month now, and it doesn't hurt any less. It was a stupid argument, both of you were wrong, and now both of you were alone. Well, you were, at least. A man like John Watson probably had another girlfriend by now.

Your eyes sting and you brush away the tears angrily. Okay, that's _it_. You've had it with waking up alone for a month, and you miss him. You miss him so much that it's like a physical ache. Time for you to man (er... woman) up and apologize.

You think about your apology all day; you can't _stop_ thinking about it, about what you should say, about what you might say, about will would happen when you do. If he'll accept the apology... if he'll just tell you to piss off, if he'll ask for you back. You swallow hard. You hope he takes you back. When you finally make it home, you pace for about half an hour, your mobile in hand, staring at his number on the screen.

"ARGH!!! Stop being such a _coward_ and do it!" you finally yell at yourself. Planting your feet, you hit 'call' and place the phone to your ear before you change your mind. It rings once... twice.... three times. On the fifth ring, you're losing your nerve and about ready to hang up when he answers.

"Hullo?" Oh god. His voice. You know you're head-over-heels about him when even hearing his _voice_ sends a thrill through you.

"Hullo, John," you say. He's silent.

"Good to hear from you..." he finally replies, his voice soft. You make a noise of agreement.

"Listen... um... I was wondering if we could meet up for coffee tomorrow," you ask. He pauses for a moment.

"Yeah... yeah, I'd like that. Half three good?" he queries. You respond with an affirmative and he names the place: the little cafe where he ran into you for the first time. Literally. The date is set... now for the waiting.

oOoOo

By the time half three rolls around, you're nearly crawling out of your skin. You're sitting at the table with an oversized mug of tea in your hands when he comes in, looking just as good as you remember. Better, even. He sees you, his eyes lighting up (or, at least, you hope they do), and he joins you.

"Hey..." you say quietly.

"Hey. Good to see you," he says. You nod.

"Ah... listen. There's a reason why I wanted to meet you here," you tell him. He looks into your face, a question in his eyes.

"I wanted to apologize. And... and I want to know... if... if you'll consider taking me back," you continue, your voice going quieter and quieter as you finally say what's on your mind, staring at your tea like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. He lets out a sharp breath and you look up. A bright, if somewhat watery, smile is on his face.

"God, I'm such a fool," he murmurs, and you blanch. He rushes to continue. "For letting you go! For being such an arse and getting into an argument like that in the first place. I was actually about to call _you_ when you rang me yesterday," he admits.

Your smile is blinding.

"So... that's a yes, then?" you tease him gently.

His response is to pull you to him over the table and claim your mouth in a kiss that has your toes curling in your shoes. When he breaks it, both of you are panting, eyes slightly glazed. "Back to mine or yours?" he asks.

"Mine. Closer," you breath out. Both of you stand and walk back to your flat, his arm around your waist.

oOoOo

The both of you run up the stairs, you manage to get your door open and then shut again and you're all over each other: hands, fingers, mouths, lips. Your clothes find the floor in seconds, and you both are soon so wrapped up in each other that it's difficult to tell where he ends and you begin. His lips are on your breasts, suckling your nipples into a rosy tightness, your hands are on his hips as you press into him, making him moan.

"Bed?" you ask, breathless. He growls.

"Sod the bed. I'm going to have you right here on the floor."

You shiver with anticipation, and he gently guides you to the ground. He's kissing your neck as he finds his way into you, making you gasp and quiver as you feel yourself stretching around him. His cock just as thick and gorgeous as you remember it, and he begins to gently push his way in and out of you. But you're having none of that... it's been a _month_ , and you have him _back_. You link your ankles around his hips and pull him in tight to you. He exhales sharply, almost a hiss, and then he starts fucking you hard. You can feel him bottoming out with every thrust and you drag your nails down his back, leaving red, bloodless lines in his fair skin. Your shoulders, hips and back start to burn from the friction of the carpet, but as he claims your mouth, you can't find yourself caring if you're rubbed raw. One of his clever hands finds your clit unerringly and begins to tease it between his strong, rough fingers. You shatter with a cry of his name, arching and keening. He thrusts for another minute or two before he pulls out. He strokes himself for a moment or two before he comes with a groan of your name all over your belly and chest. You lie back, both of you panting as your sweat and his come cool on your skin. Ever the gentleman, he gets a wet cloth to help clean the both of you up. Afterward, you just spoon on the carpet, bare skin to bare skin, blissfully happy that the breach between you is healed.


	71. Scoundrel- Riddell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been sent away to Africa where you meet the most amazing man...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: This is a request that probably does not fit, and I completely understand if you turn it down, but I'd love to see some really raunchy Reader/Riddell stuff. Seeing Rupert Graves play John Riddell, running around in jodhpurs and tall boots (the boots! *shiver*)...All I can say is that it is deeply inspiring stuff. I cannot tell you how hard I would ride that man. I know it's a totally different fandom and therefore not a good fit with this but I had to ask.
> 
> Here is my go at Riddell.

The heat of the African Plains is almost unbearable during the day, and you are seriously reconsidering why you wanted to come here in the first place... then you remember the utter slime ball at home who has his sights set on marrying you, and you swallow your complaints and press on. Anything is better than that right prat trying to get in your dress, a dress which, at the moment, feels like it may very well choke you. Not for the first time in your life, you find yourself cursing the 'proper fashions' as your mother calls them. Some part of you aches to be allowed to run around in only your shift... but 'it isn't proper for a young lady.' _God_ , you can hear your mother's voice when you say it in your head! Thank God your parents are back home and not here. Walking to the edge of the village you're staying in, you hear a gunshot echo across the plains, making you jump. It can only mean one thing: Riddell is bringing back another kill.

Now _there_ is a proper scoundrel if you ever met one, the best shot in all of Africa and with quite a reputation to boot. You heard two dancers tell of a night they spent with the man, and quite frankly, it got you all hot and bothered. Of course, you've seen him from afar: his brown hair peppered with bits of grey, his tan jodhpurs and jacket, white shirt, tall brown boots, and his hat keeping the sun from his eyes as he brings back another animal to sell. His tent is just outside the village, and he's known for keeping to himself unless he is in want of company.

A short while later, the hunter returns triumphant and trades the animal for food and money. He walks by you, glancing to where you sit (to avoid getting burned you might add) under the shade of a tree.

"Good day, miss," he says, taking off his hat and sitting next to you on your rock. "Awfully hot weather, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite." He's talking to you... and he's even hotter up close. Oh, you aren't going to make it back to England a virgin if you have your way.

"Now, I believe I've seen you before. You're the merchant's daughter."

"Right you are. Papa has sent me here for a holiday and to study the natives while he and Mama... well, I would assume they just want me gone while they try to negotiate for my hand in marriage." You spit the last part out and tug at the tight collar of your white dress.

"An arranged marriage? Why on earth are they doing that?"

"Because I am, apparently, something that can be sold at market, a way for them to profit. And I _despise_ the man they have picked out for me. He's an absolute mud fish, not even fit to walk the streets of the great city of London."

Riddell is silent for a moment before glancing at you, fiddling with the hat in his hands. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a flask, taking a sip before offering you some.

"Are you sure about that, sir? 'Tis not fit for a lady to share such a drink."

"Yes, but any lady I happen to fancy can do well enough with this. It's the finest I can get. I swear it."

Feeling adventurous and desperate for any means of defying your parents, not to mention that he just said he _fancies you_ , you accept the flask and take a long pull from it, spluttering as the liquid burns your throat. "Ugh!" You start coughing until you manage to get your breath back; then you notice that his arm is around your shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes... fine... just fine..."

"This may sound a bit forward of me, but I should like to take you back to my tent, show you around my campsite... get you out of those clothes."

"Mr. Riddell!" You sound scandalized, but your heart is pounding and your palms sweating to think of what the two of you could get up to.

He gives you a lopsided smirk, his brown eyes blazing with hunger and want. "I promise that we shall do nothing but enjoy each other's company."

You return his smile. "Very well then. Lead on, Mr. Riddell."

oOoOo

As it turns out, he is only a five minute's walk away, and he's ever the gentleman with you, holding your arm and helping you around some of the larger rocks and more unstable terrain. The campsite is very neat and tidy, a fire pit at the ready and a case full of weaponry for his hunting just inside the tent flap.

"Might I offer you some dinner? The sun will be setting soon."

"Yes, actually. That would be lovely."

Riddell starts up a fire and cooks some of the meat he kept from his kill, regaling you with stories of his adventures, and ending, as you finish eating, with how he was nearly mauled by a lion but managed to take the beast down anyway. You're a marvelous audience, gasping and laughing in all the right places, and you barely realize the sun has set until you begin to shiver.

"Come here, my dear."

He offers you a spot closer to him, and when you sit down, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close. He's certainly warmer than you would have thought, and he smells _divine_ , like danger and adventure, like... _like a lover_ , your mind supplies. Another shiver runs through you, and the hunter slowly looks at you.

"Shall we warm you up?"

"I can think of a few ways I would like to do that."

Riddell looks surprised to hear you say that, but you don't care because the next moment he's kissing you, devouring and claiming your mouth for his own, groaning into the kiss as he holds you closer. He tastes even better than he smells, his tongue extremely talented and quick. You suddenly wonder what it would be like to feel that tongue elsewhere on your body. Heat flares between your legs and you press harder against him.

The hunter breaks the kiss first, staring into your eyes. "I would like to take you to bed. Sod your sniveling fiancé. I can turn your world upside down and then back again. Would you like to try?"

There is only one response to that question. " _Yes_."

Riddell stomps the fire out and scoops you into his arms, carrying you into the tent and laying you down on his cot. Kissing you again, his fingers work your buttons open slowly, freeing you from the confines of the dress only to encounter...

"A _corset_?!"

"Mother's rule. I have to look my best at all times."

"Sod this." He pulls out a hunting knife and cuts through the braces in the torture device, freeing you from it and allowing you to breathe properly for the first time all day. Gasping in relief, you remember that he now has full view and access to your breasts, but the man catches your wrists before they can cover your chest. "I really want very much to see you naked, my dear. Besides, since I plan to hear your lovely voice screaming my praises to the heavens soon, we should get to know each other a bit."

"You're rather cocky, aren't you?"

His smirk makes your entire body flood with heat as he gives you a look like he wants to devour you. Riddell stands and strips, taking his time in revealing his toned, tan chest before taking off his boots and removing his jodhpurs. He stands before you in his pants, a clear bulge beneath the plain fabric. You sit up and look at him, biting your lip. "I want you, Mr. Riddell, but I am a virgin. Just so you know what you are doing."

The look he gives you in return makes you feel you could melt. "Then I shall most certainly give you the best ride of your life."

Blushing, you glance away again only to have his rough hands catch your face and kiss you, his lips moving slowly over and with yours, pulling a moan from your chest. Riddell then begins to kiss his way down your body, mouth and lips and tongue almost burning hot on your skin. When he reaches your breasts, he spends a great deal of time on them, sucking and licking your nipples until they are rock hard and aching. Your hands fist in the blankets of the cot while your back arches and you sob from the state of your arousal.

He continues, nipping and sucking a trail to the top of your bloomers where he stops, taking off your boots and stockings before removing your final layer of clothing. You feel extremely self conscious, but he's staring like he's never seen anyone like you before. The hunter pulls off his own pants and kneels between your legs, kissing lower than your belly button until...

 _Oh_. You've never even considered this as an option with another person much less a man or a lover. His tongue is lapping at your sex and then your nub, back to your sex again, and then it pushes into you, breaching your body and causing you to cry out. He adds his fingers to his tongue, pressing and stretching you for several minutes before positioning himself above your body, lining himself up with your entrance. Riddell leans down to kiss you once more, and then he's pressing inside and you groan with pain and pleasure this time, writhing and twisting slightly on the cot until he's inside you all the way. He stops, allowing you a moment to adjust to the feeling of something foreign, hot, and _thick_ inside your body. Kissing your cheek, the hunter starts to move, his hips rolling and grinding against your own.

The rhythm is easy enough to find, and he feels amazing. The man is gorgeous, his voice casts a spell on you, his eyes twinkle with impure and wicked fire, and his arousal... well, he's certainly much thicker than you thought possible. He keeps kissing you, taking your mouth in slow, smoldering kisses that leave you breathless and gasping. After a few moments, Riddell slowly gathers you into his arms and sits up, seating you in his lap, his hands taking down your hair before resting on your hips. He helps you learn how to rock in his lap without falling or sliding off, and from this angle, he's reaching even deeper inside your body, his length rubbing against different spots than before. You can feel your belly and your sex begin to heat up and tighten, completely taken aback when he speeds up and works you over like a professional; you scream his name in pure ecstasy as you climax, head thrown back, arms around his neck.

The hunter soon follows, groaning your name as he pours himself into you. Everything is hot and heavy and sticky, the smell of sex very much in the air. Riddell lays you back on the cot and tucks you both in, curling his body around you protectively and for warmth.

"I've wanted to win your affections for quite some time, now, Mr. Riddell. And I have to say that the stories about you don't hold a candle to the actual real live performance."

He chuckles. "Well then, you'll just have to wait for the encore."

oOoOo

One hundred years later, his great grandson is promoted to Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard...


	72. Joining In the Fun- Mystrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last place on Earth you'd expect to get picked up, and by /two/ men no less...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: I really want some more Mycroft and Lestrade, maybe Mystrade realizing that they want a toy to add a little something extra to their sexlife and that 'toy' being reader?
> 
> You have no idea what you got us into. Enjoy. None of you will last very long. I certainly didn't.

You're sitting in a gay bar (you went for a laugh with your friend Rob... who is, by his own definition, 'gayer than Christmas') and you lament the fact that all of these men, most of them absolutely _gorgeous_ , are not interested in you in the slightest. You sip at your Tequila Sunrise and watch the men dance with each other and flirt. However, you feel eyes on you.

_That... can't be right._

You turn and see a fit older gentleman with salt and pepper hair giving you the once-over. Right next to him, doing the exact same thing, is a tall man with ginger hair, his eyes somewhat cold and more calculating than Silver Fox's appreciative stare. You raise an eyebrow, and Silver Fox smirks. He walks up to you, Tall and Icy trailing behind.

"Hullo, gorgeous," he says, "fancy a round on us?" Now both of your eyebrows are up.

"Ah... I'm good for the moment, thanks," you say. Tall and Icy makes a noise of impatience.

"For God's sake, Greg, if you go about it like that, then we're _never_ going to get this done," he says. Now you're intrigued. Silver Fox (Greg, apparently,) glares at the taller man who introduces himself. "I'm Mycroft. My lover and I are looking for a third party for a.... bit of playtime," he says, choosing his words carefully, "and were wondering if you would join." You nearly spit out your drink.

"But... aren't you... _why_?" you manage to splutter. Mycroft smiles smugly.

"Bisexual, to answer your first question, and... call it a long-held fantasy."

You take a deep breath, down the rest of your drink and text Rob to not wait up. "All right, gents... I'm all yours."

Both of their grins are wide as they escort you to their car. The drive to their flat is short, about five minutes, and they usher you inside quickly. Once there, they lead you to the bedroom. Guess they don't like to waste time. You stand, feeling very awkward, now that the bit of liquid courage has worn off. You start as Greg sidles up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Relax, luv," he murmurs into your ear, "we'll make sure that you're _well_ taken care of." You shiver, making a small noise of surprise when he kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. He chuckles and repeats the action, causing you to tilt your head back and allow him greater access. You nearly  jump out of your skin, though, when you feel another mouth on the opposite side of your neck. Mycroft has joined in.

"Starting without me, Gregory? For shame," he chides gently, smirking. Greg snorts.

"Well you can hardly blame me with this temptation in front of me, can you?" he asks, lightly trailing his fingers down your cleavage; you feel your skin break out into goose bumps at his touch. Their dual seduction has your head spinning with arousal so quickly that you don't notice when they start to remove both your and their clothing. When you're down to your bra and knickers, that's when you come back to yourself. Both of them are just in their pants, looking at you like they're starving and you're a five-course meal. You're half-certain you can even see Greg drooling a little.

"Oh, that is just lovely," Mycroft murmurs, his long, clever fingers going to unhook and discard your bra. Greg bends to suckle at your breasts, causing you to cry out a little and dig your fingers into his soft, silver hair. He guides you to sit on the bed, Mycroft pressing kisses along his lover's bare shoulders; you can see small flicks of his tongue and Greg shivers and moans at the contact. This makes you bite your lip as heat rushes between your legs. Mycroft pauses, catching your reaction. He pulls Greg away and whispers something into his ear. The shorter man's eyes light up and he chuckles a bit before they start to kiss, slow and sensually, taking their sweet time. Your breath leaves you in a gasp as you watch them, and now you're absolutely certain that you're so wet that your knickers are soaked.

Mycroft's arms are draped around Greg's shoulders, and Greg's hands are on Mycroft's hips, pulling the two of them closer together. The bulges of their erections are flush against each other, and Mycroft moans as Greg presses against him. A quiet strangled noise escapes your throat, and both of them turn their heads to look at you. Greg chuckles darkly.

"Don't worry, little darling. We won't leave you out." He moves away from Mycroft and pulls your knickers down, kneeling between your legs. He spreads them and bends his head to place kisses along your inner thighs. You gasp at the contact, jumping slightly, but then you cry out as you feel his hot mouth on your sex, his clever tongue lapping at your wet folds. Your hands wind into his hair again as he works, licking and sucking, causing you to buck your hips against his mouth. He leaves you before you reach your peak, his face wet from his chin to his nose with your juices.

"Myc, she tastes amazing," he says as he wipes his face clean. Mycroft kisses him soundly, his tongue exploring Greg's mouth.

"I agree, but I feel I should get a second opinion," he says smoothly. Before you can say anything, his head is between your thighs, mouth where Greg's just was, kissing and licking you again. You're so wound up from Greg that it takes you almost no time at all before you climax, riding out the waves of it as Mycroft's tongue  laps at your wetness. Vaguely, through a fog of endorphins, you hear them talking quietly. Once you return to yourself fully, they're both looking at you.

"Gregory and I were wondering, and if it makes you uncomfortable, we can always figure something else out..." Mycroft says. Greg makes an impatient noise.

"What he's trying to say is, luv, we want to both take you at the same time. If you're willing," he says. You nearly stop breathing.

"Good _Christ_ , yes."

Both of their eyebrows go up, and then they grin, like kids on Christmas morning. Myc goes to the side-table drawer and fetches a pair of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. They roll the condoms on each other and Greg helps slick Mycroft's cock up. The silver-haired man sits in the bed and helps you climb astride him. You tease his prick with your heat until he's cursing roundly. When you can both bear it no longer, you sink down, seating him fully inside of you.

"Ohhh, _fuck_ ," he groans. "Myc, she's so _tight_. I dunno if we'll both be able to fit." Mycroft's eyes burn with determination.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he purrs. He slicks up his fingers first, and presses gently at the tight ring of muscles at your back entrance; slowly, he slides one digit inside of you. You squirm; you aren't used to it, but it doesn't feel bad. Not even when he adds a second finger. He starts scissoring and curling them as you rock on Greg's arousal, fucking yourself on his fingers. You moan; if his _fingers_ feel this good... all thought leaves your head as those talented digits slide out and are replaced with something _much_ larger and thicker. Mycroft hisses through his teeth as he sinks into you slowly, allowing you plenty of time to adjust to his width and length. Finally, after several long minutes, both of them are fully sheathed inside of you.

Mycroft's head drops to your shoulder as he clutches at your hips. "Oh my God," he gasps. Slowly, slowly, _slowly_... he begins to move. As he pulls you to him, Greg slides out of you. And as you slide on to Greg, Mycroft moves out. They're fucking you in counterpoint, and you can feel the both of them, rubbing against the thin wall of muscle that separates your sex from your rear entrance. Mycroft is pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, his hands coming up to cup your breasts and play with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers.

"Oh my sweet little girl... you're so fucking _tight_ with the both of us inside you," Greg murmurs into your ear. "This was all Myc's idea, and I'm glad you went for it. Jesus... watching you ride my cock as Myc fucks you from behind? It's _gorgeous_."

With Greg's velvet voice added into the mix, it's too much... too much feeling, too much sensation. You come in a blinding flash, a haze, an explosion of pleasure, crying out a garbled mixture of their names. Greg is first to let go after you, groaning your name and Mycroft's low in his throat. Mycroft follows swiftly behind as he pulses his hips. You come again when he sinks gently his teeth into your shoulder.

When you come back to yourself, you're still pressed tightly between them both. Mycroft slowly slides out of you, taking his time, as does Greg. They clean you, then themselves up and you all bundle into the bed; you in the middle, Greg in front, and Myc behind.

"If you're willing, we'd like to continue this arrangement," Mycroft murmurs.

You nod sleepily. If all nights could be like this... you don't think you'd want for anything again.


	73. Seizing Possession- Sherlock, John, and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not safe for anyone if the head of a criminal empire can waltz right into 221B Baker Street...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by newuniverse: While I love the safe sex, I also am a fan of just redic no condoms party boys time. Like Sherlock/John/Jim/Narrator. Just putting that out there.

You, Sherlock, and John are in various chairs in the sitting room, eating dinner, when someone strolls through the front door to the flat, someone who has both of your boys up and in front of you in no time, shielding you from the shorter, pale man in an impeccable, mouthwatering suit.

"Hello there," he purrs. He's clearly Irish, not even bothering to hide his accent. John's gripping your arm possessively, and Sherlock looks like he might attack at any moment.

"What do you want, Moriarty?"

_Wait... MORIARTY?!_

" _This_ is Moriarty?"

He chuckles, making a show of peering around John and Sherlock to try and get a good look at you. "Jim Moriarty... hiiiii."

Some part of you suddenly wants him to take you, and you wonder if you're as addicted to adrenaline and danger as John is.

"I simply dropped by to find out if I could join in your little party for the evening," the consulting criminal simpers, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue, You open your mouth to say yes, but somehow, Sherlock's hand finds its way unerringly to cover your lips.

"No, James, I think not. Good evening to you."

"Ahhh, but Sherly, I think you should as the little lady here what _she_ wants."

The detective risks a glance at you, only to see how strongly you're begging with your eyes. You don't know why you're doing it, only that you want the smaller man to dominate you so bad you're soaking your knickers.

"It's not a practical idea, not safe," Sherlock hisses, trying to plead his case. _He's pleading with you? Well then, this really mush be serious._

You pull his hand away. "Yeah, so? If you're so concerned, keep watch. Besides, if we're naked, it's not like he can conceal a knife on his skin."

Jim chuckles at that. "Listen to the girl, Sherly. Or are you still too afraid of being The Virgin to let an experienced girl have a bit of fun?"

That gets a rise out of Sherlock. He whirls around and stalks up to Jim, staring him down. "Call off your sniper dog, and I'll agree. You aren't getting to her unless you do."

The consulting criminal looks very pleased, whipping out his mobile and sending a quick text. "There. All clear. Now then... where shall we begin?"

oOoOo

You can tell that neither John nor Sherlock really wants to participate, but you kiss each of them in turn for reassurance. "It'll be fine. I think he really does just want to play. Besides... seeing your arch-nemesis take me? I'm rather banking on you getting jealous."

The idea already has John's eyes narrowed and him growling. Sherlock looks like he's struggling not to be curious as you walk forward and stand before the consulting criminal. Jim is grinning, a predatory expression. He reaches out one pale finger, brushing it along your cheek and making you shiver.

"Such a sensitive thing, aren't you? Shall we test that out?"

Before you can blink, he's seized your face and claimed your mouth as his own. He's very rough, his hands holding tight as he growls, "Open your mouth. _Open it_."

You obey, and his tongue invades, sweeping through and nearly beating yours into submission. You moan and press closer, grinding against him in a desperate attempt for friction. Jim breaks the kiss, staring at Sherlock and John.

"See how quickly she's panting for me?"

The next thing you know, John's arms are around you, and he's kissing you, hard, possessive, as if trying to erase Jim, but even that's not enough for Sherlock who yanks you away from his flatmate and kisses down your neck to mark your skin with a bruise. By the time he's finished, you can barely breathe and the room is still slightly spinning.

"Oh, well _done_ , boys. Seems like you _can_ fight for her after all."

"Are you saying this is all just some sick game?" John sounds slightly horrified.

"Oh no, no, _no_ ," the Irishman says, shaking his head. "I plan to profit quite nicely from this. I could have anyone in the city I want, and I choose _her_." He points to you, beckoning. "Strip. Hands and knees, pet. I want to show them how quickly I can own you."

Blushing, you obey, pulling off your clothes and presenting your bum for Jim to look at. He has you facing John and Sherlock, and you're embarrassed by how wet you are in this situation, a fact that Jim exploits. He nudges your legs apart and strokes a single finger along your folds, holding the digit up for the others to see.

"Bet you want her now, don't you Sherly? Johnny boy?"

Your friends/lovers/flatmates look murderous as Jim undoes his zip and pulls his cock out, rubbing it teasingly against your entrance. You gasp and rock back, even with the audience (although, even though they don't want to admit it, both John and Sherlock are looking fairly turned on seeing another man dominate you). The thought barely goes through your mind before Jim is buried in you, snapping his hips roughly and growling.

You see John first, the doctor trying to surreptitiously rub the bulge in his trousers, but failing miserably; Sherlock is in much the same position. You whimper with every balls-deep thrust Jim gives you, and all three of you have to listen to his snarled words; truth be told, you don't mind them at all.

"Such a-wanton-little-slut-hot-wet-tight-for me... bet-I'm- _bigger_ -than-them... have-you-had-bigger-before? Like-it-rough-don't-you? Look-at-them... so-turned-on... what'll-happen-if you- _scream_?"

That's it. John groans and frees himself from his jeans, wanking fast while Sherlock reluctantly follows. Both men are staring as Jim speeds up, pressing your upper back until your face is against the carpet; he's reaching deeper into you now, rolling and snapping his hips. When he finally reaches around to tweak your clit, you scream his name, pulsing and clenching around his cock... but it's _not quite_ enough to make him follow. The consulting criminal is gleeful, goading John and Sherlock who are very nearly there.

"You-want-her? She's- _mine_."

The flatmates cum at almost the same moment, their release landing along your back. It's hot and sticky, and three thrusts later, Jim's finally done, pulling out just in time to add his to the design on your skin. You sink to the floor, wrung out, starting to feel Jim's tongue lapping at the mess.

"Such a unique flavor... can't get _this_ anywhere in London."


	74. Sin From My Lips- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may not ever enjoy tutoring more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by wholockedmeinpurgatory: I do have a request for some uni!Sherlock and reader, reader needs a tutor, and Sherlock decides reader needs some 'extracurricular activity' in the library, if you would be so kind. :)

You glower at the sign on the wooden door in front of you:

**TUTORING SERVICES: 3 P.M. TO 9 P.M.**

You wouldn't even have to _be_ here if your shit-for-brains group members actually handed in the assignment on time. But, seeing as it is for a major grade and the professor is strict, you all have been assigned two hours of tutoring as punishment for your tardy project. You gently push open the door and see who you _think_ is the tutor... he's wasted as an academic, then. He has curly raven hair and is lean and tall, that much you can tell even though he is sitting. His feet are up on the desk in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his blue-green cat's eyes flick over you, appraising, questioning.

"So... I assume you are my four o'clock appointment," he says, and you swallow hard. His voice is a rich, full baritone, one that makes your skin prickle. You nod. "And you're here for Professor Darling's Elizabethan literature course?" Again, you nod. "Then come in, sit down. Don't waste any more of my time than you absolutely must," he says. You sit, your face burning in indignation.

"I shouldn't even _be_ here," you complain. "It's my best class in my best subject, and it's because the other people in my group were too bloody _stupid_ to hand stuff in..." you trail off with a frustrated growl. One of his eyebrows is raised, and a slight smile quirks the side of his mouth.

"Well then... I'm sure we can figure something out. Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes," he says, extending a large, long-fingered hand to you. You introduce yourself and take it. What he says next catches your attention.

"So... how do you feel about Hamlet?"

"That's only my favorite play," you state. He chuckles and you feel something on your insides flutter.

"Good. At least you have a decent taste in literature," Sherlock says. "So, seeing as you _clearly_ don't need to be instructed in the ways of the Bard, how do you feel about some... method acting?"

You grin widely; you're in the drama club, and you've been _dying_ to do a Shakespeare production but the director is leery of it (too much time, not enough people, the usual lame responses when faced with pure genius like Will Shakespeare). "I shall follow your lead, milord," you say, bowing slightly.

He full-out laughs this time and passes you a copy of the play that's stacked on the desk. He fishes out his own tattered and worn one from a briefcase below the desk. "Act Three, Scene Two," he instructs as you riff through the pages, "the play within a play. You're going to be-" he smirks, lips curling up at the corners, "-the fair Ophelia."

Your eyes go wide and you swallow hard. You go to sit next to him; you know this scene well. He glances at the lines and begins.

"Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"

 _Oh yes please_... you think, but you reply with Ophelia's response. "No, milord."

"I mean, my head upon your lap," he clarifies.

"Aye, milord." And then... oh sweet fancy Moses... he _does_. He lays that dark curly head in your lap with a smirk that reminds you of a very pleased cat.

"Do you think I meant country matters?" he asks, adding that extra emphasis on the first syllable that makes you fight back a giggle and makes your face heat at the same time.

"I think nothing, milord," you reply softly. He grins now, the expression wide and mischief-filled.

"That's a fair thought, to lie between maid's legs," he murmurs. You're unable to stop the small whimper that escapes your throat. His eyes snap up to yours, that bright blue-green darkening as his pupils dilate and push all the color to the edge. "Soft now, the fair Ophelia," he whispers, then he reaches up, grabs your head and brings it down to his for a searing kiss that makes your toes curl.

He soon straightens you both up, his lips never leaving yours, devouring, claiming. He gently pries your mouth open and explores with his tongue, lapping and darting. Your fingers wind into that gorgeous hair and you tug slightly. He groans and breaks the kiss, both of you panting. Sherlock looks at you, scrutinizing the way your eyes are half-lidded and your lips are swollen and kiss-stung. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip just as your tongue flicks out to wet them, and you manage to catch it. His eyes go wide and he reclaims your mouth with a fury, tugging at your clothes. You tug at his as well, the buttons of his shirt already straining; you figure that you're doing him a favor and letting the shirt take a rest.

His hands are suddenly everywhere, on your chest, undoing and discarding your bra, rucking up your skirt around your waist. He snags his great, dark coat that's sitting on the desk and lays it on the floor, then rests you on it, your chest heaving. He bends that dark curly head and captures a nipple between his teeth, tugging gently. You arch up with a soft cry as he suckles and ruts softly against your leg, making sure that you feel his arousal pressed into you. You let your hand drift there, softly squeezing the impressive length. He groans and looks at you, his eyes blazing, half-mad.

"Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again..." he murmurs hoarsely in your ear before he kisses you once more, feathering along your jaw and peppering small bites on your neck and collarbone. His hands fumble with his trousers while you help, then he tugs your knickers off. He produces a condom from, seemingly, out of nowhere and you roll it on him. He presses into you with a hiss escaping from his clenched teeth. Your eyes roll back into your head as he sheathes himself to the hilt inside of you. He's _big_ , long and thick and so _hot_... You shift your hips upwards, and that does it. He's pounding into you with abandon, you giving just as much as he is, taking as well. He holds you tight against him and you come with a cry of his name, a sweet shattering. He pumps into you once, twice more, then groans your name, the sound a sweet rumble.

He stays inside you for a long time, even after he's gone soft. With a sigh, he pulls out and disposes of the condom, then helps you clean up. The pair of you rearrange your clothes and the classroom. You scuff your shoes against the ground; you can't believe it... you just had a quick shag with your _tutor_. And, as luck would have it, you'll never see him again. However, before you leave, he clears his throat. You pause, one hand on the doorknob.

"Well. I must insist that you come back for more tutoring sessions. At least twice a week. I shall keep this timeslot clear especially for you, if you'd like," he says, sounding strangely shy. You flush brightly and smile back.

"Yes... I'd like that very much," you say. He looks up at you and grins, boyish and beaming.

"Good. Same time next week, then," he says with a cheeky wink.

"Until then... goodnight, sweet prince," you say.

_Exeunt omnes, stage left. Fade to black._


	75. Thank You- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he hadn't shown up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by mamasaidknockmeout: romantic!John is the first guy the reader has sex with after being assaulted by a robber

You're walking home from a late night at work when it happens. Turning onto your street and humming to yourself, you're almost at your door when you hear it.

"Give me your wallet."

Blanching and heart pounding in your ears, you turn slowly to see a man there, holding a wicked looking knife. "The fuck you waiting for? Hand it over!"

You want to make a run for it, you're flat is right there, but you can't move, paralyzed with fear.

"Do I gotta use this?"

That snaps you out of your stupor. You scream, and he attacks. Dodging and running, you try to get away, still screaming at the top of your voice, grateful that he doesn't want to let go of his apparently only weapon by throwing it, but you're unable to outrun him for long. He tackles you, driving you into your neighbor's garden and crushing the flowers. Pinning you in place, he sets the knife at your throat. "Bad idea, you sniveling little _cunt_ -"

There's a - _thunk_ \- and he grunts, slumping over. You're trembling but don't get up, scared, until you hear a voice. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes... I-I think so."

"C'mon. Up you get."

Your savior helps push the attacker off you and then gently pulls you to your feet. "Did he hurt you?"

You shake your head. "H-he was about to and p-probably would have if you hadn't..." The shock starts to set in, and you can't stop trembling. The blonde man catches you and leads you over to the steps, giving you his coat.

"I'll call the police, just sit here and breathe slowly, head between your legs. You're in shock."

The Fuzz is there less than five minutes later, the man arrested and bundled away. Your savior speaks quietly with the man on duty, silver haired and with a nice face. He comes over and crouches down in front of you.

"Can you tell me what happened? I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade."

You nod slowly and recount everything, shaking harder when you talk about him pinning you to the ground and nearly slitting your throat. The blonde's eyes go dark and stormy, vaguely murderous. " _Scumbag_ ," he snarls.

Lestrade shoots him a glance. "Walk it off, John. I don't need an actual homicide to deal with tonight. God knows I have enough on my plate."

John. Your savior's name is John.

The questions end, and Lestrade heads off, leaving you with John.

"We never were properly introduced. I'm John Watson." The blonde offers his hand and you shake it.

"Thank you... for saving me."

He gives you a very warm and comforting smile. "Glad I could be of service."

"Would... would you like to come upstairs for a drink? God knows I need something to steel my nerves after that."

Offering his arm, he helps you up, and you clutch his coat a little tighter around your body. "I'd be delighted."

oOoOo

"What would you like? I have Cabernet, Guinness, aaaaaaand-" you root through the fridge, shifting through your half eaten containers of takeaway and the enormous bowl of fruit you keep there, "Stella."

"Cabernet will be just fine."

You open the bottle and pour you each a glass, sitting down heavily in your chair and taking a long sip from it. "Ohhhh, I needed that."

"You were very brave."

Blushing slightly, you give him a shy smile. "Thanks, I'm really just glad you were there. What were you doing here anyhow?"

John shakes his head, chuckling. "My flatmate is a detective, and he drags me along with him to crime scenes. There was one about six or seven streets away, and I was taking a walk to clear my head when I heard you screaming. I used to be a soldier, so I knew I could fight him off," he explains.

"And you knew how to help with my shock and dizziness, so are you a doctor as well?"

John beams at you. "Right in one."

Finishing your glass, you stand, prompting him to do the same (such a gentleman). You give him a bit of a coy, shy smile. "Thank you, John. This is to thank you," and, taking a few steps closer, you lean in and give him a soft kiss.

It feels so nice, his lips soft and warm against yours. He clearly wasn't expecting this, but it doesn't take him long to recover. His arms circle around you as he kisses back, holding you securely to his body. Cupping his face in your hands and stroking the hair at his temples, you deepen it, tongue darting to brush his where it lingers at the seam of your lips.

Before you can realize what has happened, John's taken control, his tongue exploring and mapping out your mouth with practiced ease. It makes your knees weak to have him so in charge, pulling little whimpers and moans from you without even seeming to try. Part of you never wants the kiss to end, but another part of you is so wrung out and horny and hot and bothered that you want him. You want him _bad_.

John seems to sense this and chuckles softly against your lips. "Shall we move this to the bedroom?"

"Oh yes... oh _please_."

Taking his hand, you practically drag him to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you and fumbling with his jumper. He catches your hands, pressing kisses to each palm. "Not so fast, luv. I want you to enjoy this. Let me help you unwind."

His voice makes you tremble, and he kisses you again, guiding you to sit on the bed. You watch as John strips down to his pants, taking careful note of his muscles and of the growing bulge in his underwear. Once he's done, he slowly pulls off your blouse and jeans, leaving you in your knickers. "Lie back and relax."

You do, closing your eyes, and then his lips are on your skin. You can feel the heat of his body over you as he kisses his way down your neck to your breasts. Your bra is off in seconds, but he leaves them alone, trailing his tongue instead down your stomach. You gasp and arch up toward his mouth, your knickers gradually getting more and more damp. When he reaches them, John slowly slides them off to reveal your sex.

"So wet for me... oh, you're just _gorgeous_ , luv."

You open your eyes long enough to see him lean in closer, and at the first touch of his tongue, you gasp. It doesn't last nearly as long as you would like, mostly because he can sense how wound up you are. The doctor makes his way back up to your mouth, kissing you hard and deep. "Condom," he breathes.

Scrambling in your side drawer, you yank one out, and he rips it open, tugging off his pants and rolling it on his length. It's every bit as handsome as him, especially when it presses inside you, filling your body. It has been so, _so_ long since the last time you've had sex, and you can't remember why anymore. At the moment, there is only John, his blue eyes nearly black with desire. Almost tenderly, he begins to roll his hips, thrusting and grinding against you.

Your eyes flutter shut with an indecent moan; you cant your hips up to meet his movements, lacing your fingers together. John drops his mouth down to your breasts, finally worshiping them as he has the rest of your body, sucking and teasing your nipples one at a time until they are bright red and hard. His tongue swipes over them as if he's tasting you, and the thought nearly makes you come.

It's beautiful and perfect and sensual for a long time, the longest you've ever lasted until John finally cannot stave off his release. Speeding up, he starts pounding into you, making the bed rock with his thrusts. You keen and shriek, finally screaming his name as you break, the best orgasm of your life rolling over you. He goes over the edge a few thrusts later, growling your name and filling the condom.

You both lay there for a few minutes,  relaxed to move, but John finally does, cleaning himself up and tucking you both into bed. You curl up against him and murmur your thanks once more.

"You are most welcome, luv."


	76. January- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot cops for a pin up shoot? Hell yes, you'll take the job...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by alongcamebronson: Reader is a photographer taking photos for the Sexy Men of Scotland Yard charity calendar and Lestrade is embarrassed to pose but Reader relaxes him. Bonus points for Anderson trying and failing to hit on her.

You work for a photography company and you've just gotten your latest job. You nearly laugh when you see it; the male officers of New Scotland Yard are doing a _pin up calendar_ for a charity fundraising project; all the proceeds are donated to the families of officers wounded or killed in the line of duty.

Oh this is _just too rich_ ; you take it up in a heartbeat because it's bound to be entertaining, AND it's for a good cause. So you send out the e-mail to the contact person at the Yard and tell them that you'll do it, along with the date and time that the 'models' need to be at the studio so you can do the shoot.

The day arrives and you wait as one by one the officers start filing in. They're dressed in their plainclothes outfits, and a few of them give you a wink and a leer as they pass. You have eleven of the twelve months... all that's missing is Mr. January. You're about to start without him when he bursts through the door.

"I'm here!! Sorry, _sorry_. Was held up in traffic," he apologizes. You give him the once-over. He, like the rest of your 'models', is _very_ attractive. He's an older gentleman with silver hair and a kind face, brown eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles. "DI Greg Lestrade. Or, rather, Mr. January. Can't believe I let them talk me into this..." he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Relax... it's only a photo shoot, and I'm not going to make you do anything to make you uncomfortable," you reassure him. Well, now that you have a full year, "All right, gentlemen! Start disrobing!" Greg goes a shade paler.

"Start _what_?"

" _Relax_ , Greg. I'm shooting in reverse order... you'll go last," you say. He looks a bit more calm after you tell him, so you start with December; everything goes smoothly, with lots of joking done between poses. You have a bit of trouble with Mr. October, though. You suppose he's attractive, in a sort of way, but he isn't your type. That doesn't seem to put him off, though. "Hey, if I show you a trick, will you give me a treat?" he asks, trying to be suave. You look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Sorry, but I'm not fond of your mask," you say. He frowns.

"But I'm not wearing one..." he says.

"Exactly."

The gathered officers all howl with laughter. "She's got you there, Anderson!" one calls out. Mr. October scowls and stomps off, slamming doors and sulking like any diva would; Greg is nearly on the floor.

Month after month is done, until you're left alone in the studio with Greg. You swallow hard when you see his costume: a long coat, open at the front, a pair of boots and leather gloves, a scarf and his pants... and nothing else. And, unlike Mr. October, he is _exactly_ your type. He's fit, but not overly muscled, built like a rugby player. You tell him where to stand, how to hold his head, when to turn, when to smile. Finally, you've gotten all the shots you've wanted, and you're feeling particularly distracted. You don't think you've ever gotten turned on from just doing a photo shoot, but there's a first time for everything.

"All right, Greg. Torture's over, you're free to go," you say as you start to pack away your equipment. He relaxes visibly and saunters over to you. You stand your ground, an eyebrow raised as you look at him. "Yes?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd be willing to do a... private shoot," he murmurs. All of the heat in your body divides itself between your face and your sex.

"I... would like that very much," you finally manage to say after stammering like an idiot for a moment. He grins easily and bends down, just brushing your lips with his.

"Well then. Shall we begin?" he asks. You make a strangled noise of want and claim his mouth. He moans and returns the kiss, easily taking over control and plundering your mouth with his tongue. You slide your hands down his torso, feeling the heat of his skin under the greatcoat as he presses into you and makes you gasp, grinding his thinly-covered arousal into your center. Greg breaks the kiss to pull off the leather gloves with his teeth. Suddenly, his eyes light up.

"I'm going to try something," he says. You nod, and he wraps the scarf around your eyes, tying it tightly. You instantly go on alert, and the rest of your senses go into overdrive as he starts to strip you. You don't know where his clever, work-roughened fingers will go next: under your shirt, tugging at your bra, bringing your clothing over your head. You can hear the soft noises the cloth makes as it is stripped from you and cast aside. He peels off your jeans and knickers in one movement, then you hear him pause and shed the coat and boots. He backs you up to a wall and palms your arse, then lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist and link your ankles behind his hips. He manages, somehow, to work off his pants, and then you feel him, hot and thick, sliding against your sensitive, wet folds.

"G-Greg..." you manage to stammer. He purrs and positions himself; you can feel the tip of him nudging your entrance. As he pushes into you, he groans and peppers kisses to your neck, shoulders and collarbone. You let your head tilt back and thump against the wall. Slowly, he begins to move, thrusting in and pulling out in a maddening slowness. You wind one hand into his silver hair and the other hand is grasping for purchase at his back, your nails leaving red lines down his skin. His thrusts pick up speed and you can feel yourself hurtling towards that bright edge.

"I'm gonna... gonna-" you pant out. He whips off the blindfold and you squint as your eyes suddenly adjust.

"Look at me," he growls. "I want you to _look_ at me when you come."

Of course, that lovely velvet voice is what sends you hurtling over; you gasp his name and shudder, looking into his eyes as you break. His eyes roll back into his head, and he pounds into you twice more before he pulses and quivers inside of you, soaking your inner walls with his hot seed. He slides out of you and sets you down after a moment, before being a gentleman and helping you clean up and replace your clothing.

"You know what?" you say as you walk out together.

"Hm?"

"I'm definitely going to buy a calendar... and I think I'll keep it on January all year 'round," you say, smirking cheekily. He laughs and escorts you to his car. Time to see if January can come more than once...


	77. The Elder Holmes- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've just had it with everything...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MofBaskerville: A reverse of the story where Mycroft's fiancée leaves him for Sherlock. This time it's Sherlock's girlfriend leaving him for Mycroft!

You've had it with your boyfriend.

Now, there's nothing wrong with dating the great Sherlock Holmes... aside from his arrogance, boredom, inconsiderate behavior, and his uncanny knack for skipping out on dates because he 'has a case'. You're sitting by yourself at a cafe for the third time in two weeks, silently fuming as you drink your coffee when a posh, black car pulls up to the curb. You are surprised you recognize the man who emerges.

"Mycroft? What are you doing here?"

"My brother texted to inform me that he's off on a case and that I needed to pick you up and take you home."

Your face darkens and you stomp over to the car, getting in and flopping down on the seat. Mycroft gets in after you and, instead of taking you home, takes you to his flat. He leads you up into a space just as posh as his car and his office (you've been in both places numerous times with Sherlock). The elder Holmes offers you a drink which you gladly accept, downing the entire thing in two large gulps.

"Slow down there, my dear."

"And why should I? Your fucking idiot of a brother seems to think I'll just stick around, be there whenever he remembers me. He's a prick! Do you know how many times he's stood me up in the last three weeks alone? TEN! Ten fucking times! And I can't remember the last time we had sex because I think we've only done it once or twice. I'm so sick of his shit I could scream!"

"Feel better?"

You glare at him, but your expression starts to soften. "Yeah... actually, I kinda do."

"If you're looking for different... I would be. Different, that is."

Your gaze is very skeptical? "Oh? And how could you possibly be different from your brother?"

"Because... _I_ would take you to work _with_ me."

You're not sure why you do it, but the next second you're kissing him hard, fingers snagging in his perfectly styled ginger hair. Mycroft growls, grabbing your face and prying your lips apart with his tongue. He plunders and takes, capturing your tongue with his teeth and sucking hard before releasing you, both of you breathing heavily.

"I've been eyeing you ever since my brother started dating you. Every night, I find I'm pleasuring myself with your name on my lips."

Your eyes grow wide, and the space between your thighs grows very warm. "Mycroft... would you take me to bed? Please?"

"I thought you would never ask."

oOoOo

The British Government strips you in record time, shedding his layers and layers of clothes while you watch. The man looks very fit, so you can't understand why Sherlock is always ribbing him about his weight. He seems just fine to you. Mycroft bends down to capture your lips again before tugging you up the bed, leaving your sex at the mercy of his mouth and fingers. He's a beast, devouring with lips and teeth and tongue while stroking your walls with long, pale fingers. You're a sobbing, begging wreck when he releases you and wipes his mouth clean. He hasn't let you come yet, and you're aching for release; it's really been too goddamn long since you've had real and proper sex.

When he finally sinks into you, you throw your head back with a scream. He's very long and reaches deeper than any other lover you've ever had. Mycroft takes you fast, fucking with abandon, and pulling an orgasm from you in less than five minutes, but he doesn't stop there. His mouth is on your nipples, one hand at your clit, the other in your hair; you feel like he's pulling you in different directions and it's too much and then you come a second time, followed almost immediately by him; you can feel him pulse and shudder as he fills you with his hot release.

"F-f-fucking hell," you groan, trying to catch your breath. Mycroft chuckles weakly and pulls out, cleaning you both up and laying down next to you on the bed. "That's it. Fuck Sherlock. I'm leaving him." You reach down and rummage for your mobile in your jeans while Myc kisses your shoulders, finally finding the blasted thing. You shoot off a text to Sherlock to inform him of the break up and then shut it down, dropping it to the floor.

Turning back to Mycroft, "Now, where were we?"


	78. Help Out- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the flat at the same time? Far too rare an occurrence...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness and alongcamebronson: I'd equally love to see the narrator walk in on Greg wanking and he gets super flustered and embarrassed but the narrator is happy to help!

You walk into the flat that you share with you boyfriend; his coat is hung up and his shoes are off to the side of the door. You smile fondly at the little picture of domesticity. Normally, he doesn't come home until well into the night, and with your sudden schedule change, you're more like roommates than lovers... he's gone when you wake up, and you're asleep when he gets in. Needless to say, your sex drives have been suffering. Thankfully, you managed to get off early of work today on his day off, and you didn't tell him, wanted it to be a surprise.

You don't see him in the living room or kitchen, so that leaves either the loo or the bedroom. You hear a soft sound and you listen harder; you want to surprise him but not if he's sleeping. If he is... you can just crawl into bed next to him and wait until he wakes up. There's that soft sound again... it gets louder as you get closer to the closed bedroom door. It takes you a minute, but you soon place it and your face burns a bright red and heat blooms between your thighs. The quiet sound of skin-on-skin and heavy breathing.

Greg, apparently, is having a wank.

You hear your name, a hoarse whisper, and you decide 'sod it all'. You open the door, causing him to yelp and jump, turning away from you and covering himself.

"I thought you were going to be at work!" he says, breathless.

"Managed to leave early. Please... don't stop on my account," you say, staring at him hungrily. He smirks.

"Like what you see, then?" he says, revealing his dripping erection. Your knees go weak.

"Very much so," you say.

"Then why don't you help me out, luv?" Your clothes hit the floor as soon as the question leaves his lips and you're astride him in two seconds flat. He slides himself into you with a groan, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "God, you're so hot... I missed this, missed being buried hilt-deep inside of you. Missed those noises you make when I pound into you, when you ride my cock," he murmurs into your ear. He knows just how much it undoes you to hear him talk when he fucks you. You rock on him desperately, setting a fast pace that he keeps with ease. Both of you are so wound up by each other that it doesn't last long, both of you cumming in mere minutes. When he slides you off him to recover, panting, you curl up at his side.

"Best part of this?" you gasp out, "I have the next week off." He smirks.

"Guess we have plenty of time together, then," he says. You nod. You have the feeling that your bed is going to be seeing a lot of action soon...


	79. A Spare- Jim and Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This could go really well or really terribly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by sexanthesitting: I'd also love to see maybe a Jim, Molly and observer threesome from The Great Game era.

Strolling from the pub deliciously buzzed, you wander down the busy street on your way back to your flat. Deciding that you want to get there faster, you choose the shortcut down a slightly dodgy alley that you know will take time off the trip... only to almost run straight into a couple snogging against the wall. You pull up short, stumbling slightly and bumping into the man. "Sorry! Oh, I'm s-sorry..."

Your apologies trail off when he pulls away from the brown haired, slightly mousy girl he's with and stares at you, brown eyes dark with desire.

"Hmmm... need a spare. You'll do nicely."

Before you can say anything, he's pulled you in and has taken your mouth prisoner, swallowing your whimpers and half-hearted protests. When he breaks for air, you try to draw back, but you find yourself against the wall next to the other girl.

"J-Jim... what are you doing?" _At least you know his name now._

"What I _like_ , Molly dear. Now... stand there like a good girl and watch me fuck this little wench. Promise I won't finish without you."

She looks frustrated, but he kisses her soundly before fishing a condom from his pocket. He's in a nondescript V-neck, sweater, jeans, and white trainers. Turning his attention to you again, Jim eyes you hungrily, a smirk playing at his lips as he undoes his zip and pulls out his arousal.

"Now then, little wench... show me yours. Go on."

Biting your lip and very aware of your audience, you pull up your skirt and slide your knickers down and step out of them, your sex suddenly very cold as the light evening breeze hits. Jim growls appreciatively and rolls the condom on his length; he grabs your hips and forces you back against the unforgiving stone, running his tip along your entrance. "So wet for me like a good little slut. Shall we see how hot you are as well?"

Groaning, your head falls to the side as he enters you, stretching and rubbing against your sensitive walls while filling you nicely. Jim sets his teeth into your neck and begins to thrust, quick, short strokes that are teasing enough to quickly have you begging for more. He likes what he hears and speeds up, clearly trying to fuck you as fast as he can, and you understand why when you climax suddenly with a muffled scream, clenching around him before he drops you to the ground and rips the condom off. "Molly, pet, on your knees."

As you try to regain your breath, your eyes widen to watch the other girl sink to the ground and take him in her mouth, sucking his length and twisting her hand around his base. His fingers thread through her hair, and he doesn't last much longer, coming with a hiss of pleasure and a stream of expletives. Jim leans against the wall for a moment before tucking himself away. "I'll finish you later," he purrs to Molly before turning back to you.

"Don't move."

You freeze, watching as he pulls out his mobile and sends a text; two minutes later, someone turns down the alley and comes towards you, and it's all you can do not to drool.

The man is at least six foot if not more, blonde hair in messy curls atop his head, eyes like blue ice, and from the close-fitting black clothes he's wearing, he's very, _very_ fit and muscular. Jim smirks at him then pulls you forward by the hand, shoving you towards the newcomer.

"Gave her a test run for you, Sebby. Tight as a vise and hot as damnation. Have fun, but don't damage her too badly. I might want another taste."

With that, Jim turns on his heel and drags Molly from the alley.


	80. Little Bird and Pussycat- Jim and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For them to hand over the power to you, quite an amazing thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Areyoubeingshagged: More Sebby and Jim, maybe they are subs to a domme woman

Even kings need a break now and then.

At least that's what you think when Jim instructs you to wear the outfit laid out on your bed: black leather and lace, stilettos that look like they could do some serious damage, dark and dangerous and sexy at the same time, and, to complete the ensemble, is a riding crop leaning against your pillows. You raise both eyebrows.

A domme. Jim wants you to be a _dominatrix_.

You manage to shimmy into the outfit; it conceals as much as it shows off, teasing and letting the imagination work. You're usually meek, but you can't help but feel the rush of power as you wield the crop, letting the leather grow warm in your hands. You walk out to the sitting room, where Jim and his second-in-command, Sebastian, are standing. Seb's mouth drops open, and Jim gives you a very appreciative once-over. He nods curtly, a 'you know what to do' gesture. You nod in return.

"All right, lads... strip, and on your knees. If you need me to stop, the word is 'semtex.' Otherwise..." you let the crop hit the flat of your palm, a satisfying sound of leather-on-flesh, "...the games will continue."

You grin as they scramble to obey, baring their skin to your gaze. Jim is pale from his work indoors and behind the desks, Seb is more tan from laying out in the sun. Both of them are hard, though, and twitching already. "Ooooh, so nice," you purr, walking around them in a circle. "Not bad, for a little bird and a pussycat."

Seb rumbles a growl of indignation at the domestication of his Tiger nickname. You surprise yourself, the crop lashing out and meeting the skin of his back. He jumps at the sudden contact, hissing at the slight pain, a red line appearing on his flesh. "Did I say you could speak, pussycat? I did not. And until I give you, _either_ of you, express permission to do so, you shall remain silent. When you do answer me, you shall address me as 'Mistress'. Do you understand? You may answer."

Seb swallows hard. "Yes, Mistress."

"Good pussycat," you croon, bending at the waist, cupping him under the chin. You turn to Jim, who is looking distinctly jealous that you chose to pay attention to Seb first.

"Don't worry, little bird, you'll get your turn. Although I suppose I should punish you for being so greedy. Would you like that, little bird? You may speak..." you say, the crop tracing along the lines of Jim's collarbones. He shivers at the feel of the cool leather on his skin.

"Yes, Mistress," he says, his Irish brogue low and husky. You smirk.

"Little birdy, singing for the sting of my crop. How... _sweet_." Your hand flicks out and lays one, two, three stripes on his pale skin, the sound of the crop hitting his flesh and his groans of pleasurepain loud in the stillness of the flat.

"Now, my pets, my pretty playthings... what shall I do with you? Should I strap you both down somewhere, hard and dripping, unable to move, and then leave you be for a while? I think I should... I have a book that I want to get back to. Or should I just play with you?" you ask.

Both of them are breathing hard, trying not to make a sound. You kneel between them and one hand goes to encircle each cock, tugging and squeezing in unison. Jim and Seb both let out harsh gasps of pleasure, the criminal actually bucking his hips into your grasp. Seb just groans, the sound low in his throat as his head falls back, exposing the long line of his neck.

"Hmm... too tempting a sight to resist," you murmur, gently pressing your lips to his skin. You feather soft kisses to his neck and shoulder... and without warning, sink your teeth in hard. He hisses, but doesn't make a sound. You're impressed. "Well well... you're such an _obedient_ pussycat. I suppose that's earned a reward. Would you like that? Answer me," you say. Seb swallows hard.

"Yes, Mistress. I would like that very much," he says, his voice hoarse from desire. You smirk and move towards him, pressing the line of your body against his, his thick cock trapped against your skin. You reach a hand in between you and start stroking hard and fast. The stimulation after your little game is too much; with a low groan, he shudders and spills himself, soaking your bared midriff with his ejaculate.

"Naughty pussycat, you've made a mess. Clean it up... _without_ using your hands," you instruct, frowning at him. He shudders and bends, his slightly rough tongue lapping at his own come, tasting your flesh as he erases it from your skin. You shiver, tamping down your own arousal that has been steadily growing throughout this play session. Once Seb has cleaned you to your satisfaction, you pull him away from your skin with a hand wound roughly through his blonde curls.

"Enough for now, pussycat. Time to go see if my little bird has flown away yet," you say. Seb nearly groans as you move away. You saunter over to Jim, whose eyes are black with lust, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Your lips curl up into a smirk. "Awww, is the birdy _jealous_ that I paid more attention to the pussycat first?" The curl of Jim's lip is all the answer that you need. "Don't worry, little bird. Mistress will be sure to take care of you," you reassure him. You take the crop and nudge his arousal, causing his breath to catch. You tap it lightly, watching his cock bob. He gasps.

"Do you want release?" you purr into his ear.

"Yes... yes, Mistress," he gasps.

" _Beg_ for it, then." He goes cold for a moment before you trail the tips of your fingers down his throbbing shaft. He shudders.

"Please, Mistress... _please_ let me come," he begs. Your smirk turns into a full on grin as you wrap your hand around his cock and begin to tug. Within seconds, he's groaning and bucking as he empties, all over your hand; you take a cloth and wipe off his seed. When you finish cleaning up, you stand and walk to the couch, sitting down on it, leaning back.

"Now, my pets... time to show your Mistress how good you can be. Do a _trick_. Crawl over here, on your hands and knees, and see who can make me come first," you instruct, pushing your skirt up to your waist, spreading your legs wide to show your glistening womanhood.

Jim is slightly closer, so he reaches you first and dives right in, his clever tongue darting and lapping along your folds. Seb is close behind and none-too-gently shoves Jim out of the way to take his place, suckling on your clit. Finally, they manage to both work at the same time and that, the sight of their heads, raven and golden, buried between your thighs, sends you over the edge, keening and writhing. You arch and buck under their skilled mouths, your body twitching slightly in the aftershocks of your pleasure. The game is over and you relax, nearly a puddle.

"Well, Seb.... what do you think we should do now?" Jim drawls. Seb chuckles darkly and pulls out a collar from seemingly nowhere.

"I think we have a pet who has misbehaved, don't you, Sir?" he says.

"Yes.. yes we do indeed." You swallow hard. Turnabout, after all, is fair play. And you can't help but wonder what the game will be next.


	81. Below Deck- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are worse ways to occupy yourself on a long voyage...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by alongcamebronson: THE BOAT SCENE FROM TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH but with Sherlock instead of whoever it was Ben played
> 
> Requested by sexandthesitting: So maybe Sherlock or Sherlock's great-great-grandfather (also named Sherlock and looking just like him) having his way with some well-born beauty during a carriage ride or in a deserted drawing room?
> 
> I know you said carriage or drawing room, but who wouldn't want him on a boat?
> 
> And if you are interested, you can go here for the scene from 'To The Ends of the Earth': http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jX-U4GL6IX8

Not for the first time, you find yourself cursing your parents for sending you to America. There's nothing there! Nothing that you want at any rate. The days are long, and the nights leave you feeling lonely and vaguely seasick... although there is a perk to the voyage. One of the passengers is a man named Sherlock Holmes, and with his perfectly pressed jacket, waistcoat, trousers, ascot, everything, it's very easy to fantasize about him. Many nights you fall asleep with the image of him hovering over you, his deep baritone making you shiver.

It doesn't take long for him to notice how closely you watch him, and every time he does, he gives you a completely indecent smirk before turning back to whatever is occupying him. He's an absolute tease, but you won't hold that against him. If anything, it just makes him even more attractive.

There comes a point, about a month into the voyage (you've had really crap wind) that the ship is going to cross the equator. You overhear Sherlock talking to Captain Lestrade about it, inquiring as to the nature of the thing, and the Captain asks whether or not the man will be attending.

"Oh, not I. I fear this wretched heat has given me something of a headache. I'll be in my cabin."

He heads down the steps to go below deck, but before he disappears, he catches your eye for a brief moment and then is gone.

Well, that would appear to be an invitation, and it is one you certainly won't pass up.

oOoOo

Barely thirty minutes later, you sneak downstairs, waiting until the sailors have hauled the prisoner to the deck before creeping along, wondering which cabin is Sherlock's. He makes it easy for you, opening the door as soon as you've passed it and fairly dragging you into the tiny space.

The taller man practically rips your dress off, leaving you in your shift before kissing you and _oh god_ , you've never kissed anyone like this before. Lips attached to yours and moving quickly, he lifts you and sets you on a small shelf in the wall while you help get his trousers down. At the same time, he tugs your shift to reveal your breasts which he instantly takes into his mouth, sucking on each nipple in turn until you're gasping and groaning. Soon after, he shifts and shoves into you roughly, pulling a shriek from you, lost in the noise above deck.

He's hot and thick and hard, struggling to get a good balance against the wall with the ricking of the ship, and the shelf breaking doesn't make his job any easier. You scream as the loss of your perch shoves you even further onto his length, but he quickly gets a good grip on your arse and stumbles over to another wall, fucking you rough and hard against the wood. Sherlock sucks and licks at your neck, the both of you starting to sweat from exertion. He staggers to the center of the room, working you harder on his arousal until you both come at almost the same moment, you crying his name and him with a look of utter bliss on his face before you both collapse to the floor.

It takes a few minutes before either of you have the wherewithal to move, and he helps you up and shoves your clothes into your arms. You struggle to get dressed and out the door while everyone is still on deck, but he tugs you back before you make your escape.

"I hope when we reach the mainland, you will be willing for another little experiment."

The door closes, shutting the elusive Mr. Holmes in his cabin and leaving you to make your way upstairs.


	82. Making Love- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The both of you awake at the same time? Well that doesn't happen much anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was a request from me, but I actually can't remember anymore, didn't write it down. Enjoy!
> 
> Correction from ladycorvidae: this is totally her brain baby

You uncurl in your bed, half asleep as you hear the door to your room open and shut. You feel the weight on your mattress as your lover slides into bed next to you, unlike him since he usually falls asleep while you're at work, his job keeping him away at all hours. But you smile and press against him anyway, feeling the heat of his skin through your thin pajamas.

"Hey, stranger," you murmur, your voice husky with sleep. You can feel him smile.

"Hey yourself. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

You turn to face him, his golden curls and blue eyes visible in the half-light of the room. You run your fingers through his hair as he wraps his arms around you and rests his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

"Mmm... that feels nice," he mutters. "You're so warm and soft..." You chuckle.

"Well, I am a champion cuddler," you say. He snorts.

"Yes, yes you are." You both lay there for a moment, him resting against you, you carding your fingers through his hair. The easy tone starts to change, though, when you begin pressing kisses to his scalp. He holds you tighter and buries his face between your breasts, flicking out his tongue to taste your skin. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Sebby..." you say, half a whisper. He hums in response, his clever fingers already hiking up your shirt to explore your flesh, already sensitive. "Don't stop..."

Clothes are shed slowly, cast to the floor in an almost dreamlike haze. All that you can see and feel is him now above you, mouth to skin, hands wandering, lips claiming yours, head arched back into the pillows. You feel the heat and the weight of him, the stiffness of his cock pressed into your thigh as he ruts against you. You part your legs, allowing him access which he takes, slowly sliding into you. You make love sensually, long fluid movements, his mouth on your neck and your breasts, suckling your nipples until you gasp and writhe beneath him. That slow, white-hot coil of pleasure and sensation winding tighter and tighter within your belly until, with a particularly deep thrust, it snaps. You gasp his name and buck beneath him as he drives into you, your name a growl in his throat as he comes and fills you with his essence. You stay pressed together, skin to skin, even after he pulls out. He feathers gentle kisses over your eyelids and down your jaw. You smile in contentment as he curls around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck and shoulder as you both fall asleep, content to be wrapped in each other's warmth.


	83. Gonna Make you a Man- John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, who knew Sherlock had this fetish...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by xmelx: Also, what about something with John/Sherlock, with Sherlock in really sexy lingerie (corset, lacy knickers, stockings, heels) and wielding that riding crop of his. Maybe Sherlock being dominant and John stumbling across the scene and joining in? Hehehe.
> 
> The title of the chapter is from RHPS.

Once again unable to find your Kindle, you stomp through the flat and barge through the door to Sherlock's bedroom. "WHAT have I told you about stealing my..." You trail off, jaw dropping at the scene before you.

Sherlock is... well... he's in his underwear but not just any underwear. He's in a black lace corset, fishnet stockings complete with black garters that are hooked onto his _lacy_ pants it looks like (you're not that familiar with any of this), spiky black heels, and slapping the palm of his hand with his riding crop. His dark, curly hair is dangling down his forehead, and his gaze is intense, seeming to pierce straight through you. There's a flash of heat through your body that steals your ability to put two words together.

The detective smirks at you, sauntering forward with a swagger of his hips, his weight perfectly balanced on heels that would have broken your ankles. "Taking to spying on me now? That won't do, not at all," he purrs, his lips almost brushing your ear. "No... I think that deserves punishment, don't you, wench?"

All you can manage is nodding your head in agreement. At this point, whatever he gives you, you'll take; there may never be an opportunity like this again. Tapping you with the crop, Sherlock orders you to strip, and you waste no time in doing so, flinging your clothes into the corner.

"On the bed, spread everything for me."

His voice really should be illegal, that deep, rich baritone striking chords in your soul. He pulls some bondage rope from his side table and secures your wrists to either bedpost and is in the middle of debating what to do with your ankles when John walks in.

Several things happen at once. You blush a deeper shade of red than you thought humanly possible, John can't stop staring at the pair of you, and Sherlock smiles. "Brilliant. John, you're just in time. I need another participant. Strip and mount her if convenient. If inconvenient, do it anyway."

"Sherlock... I'm not gonna sleep with our guest just because you tell me to."

"That wasn't a request, Captain Watson. That was an order." The detective slaps the palm of his hand with the crop, making you and John jump. The blonde still looks rather disbelieving at the sight of Sherlock appearing to have stepped from _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , but he sighs and relents, stripping and climbing onto the bed. You stare up at him, giving him a weak smile.

"Just go with it," you whisper.

"Did I say you could speak?" Sherlock snaps, catching your thigh with the crop. You hiss, the mark stinging slightly. "Now then... John... I'm sure we can find a way to get you nice and hard, can't we?"

The doctor is clearly suppressing an eye roll when he bends his head to kiss you, starting off as a slow slide of lips but quickly morphing into a desperate tangle of tongues and moans; you both have really wanted this for a long time now. John's fingers love carding through your hair, massaging the scalp as they go, and he's rutting against your leg, growing steadily hard. That's a good sign.

"Now then, John... I want you to fuck this girl. Give her a nice, hard pounding. Take her, hard and fast and dirty. _Now_."

Without waiting to be told twice, John swiftly sinks into you, drawing a hiss from your lips that soon morphs into gasps of pleasure. He's certainly going fast, pounding into you as if he's about to get caught by his Mum. Sherlock is a task master, cropping John's arse and your thighs if the man slows down at all. Soon, your sex is burning from a desire to release, to let go, and you start contracting around John, willing him to come; you're losing the feeling in your wrists, but every second longer he goes, the more you love the feeling of being dominated, at the mercy of a man you're starting to come to love very much.

John's mouth finds your neck and sucks hard, and you're finally gone, climaxing hard and shrieking his name. He follows almost immediately, filling you with his hot release before slowing and slipping out. Sherlock unties your bindings, letting you slump against the mattress. Every single thread of tension in your body is gone, but the detective still isn't done with you. He stands by the bed, staring pointedly at you. "On your knees."

With a great deal of effort, you slide to the floor, kneeling as he frees his arousal. "Go on then."

In one motion, you swallow him down, sucking hard in revenge for springing this on you. One hand relentlessly works the base of his cock, and the other fondles and squeezes his balls. One hand is in your hair, the other gently cropping your back if you do something he doesn't particularly care for. You're a fast learner, and in moments he comes, shooting down your throat with a groan. You swallow everything he gives you, cleaning him up when releasing him. He lets you sink back into the floor, nearly asleep. You feel his lips against your ear.

"Well done, wench. Next time you feel like interrupting, _knock first_."


	84. Deal With The Devil- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says he can fix your problem...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by alongcamebronson: Can I also request Jim/Reader where the Reader is a client of Moriarty's? Maybe she is trying to get money for something important and thinks crime is the best way to go about it. I'd like to see Jim charming one of his clients!

The text you received says nine o'clock, so you arrive at quarter til, checking your coat and getting a cocktail from the bar while you wait. You've of course heard rumors about the great Moriarty, everyone has, but this will be your first time meeting the legend. When you decided this needed to happen, everyone pointed to him, saying he could solve your problem. Well, you certainly hope that's true.

"I do believe you're waiting for me."

Starting at the voice in your ear, you turn to a fairly nondescript, pale man in an impeccable, expensive suit. Your backless, deep blue dress feels almost casual in comparison.

"Yes, I believe I am."

You see the hint of a smirk on his mouth. "Jim Moriarty. Hiiiiii," he responds, taking your hand and kissing it. "Now, if you'll follow me."

He leads you to a concealed booth in the back corner, ordering a Scotch for himself and getting you another cocktail. "Now, make yourself comfortable. Why have you sought my elusive services?"

Time to sway him. "I need someone dead."

He raises an eyebrow. "Dead?"

"Not just dead: _gone_ , vanished with no trace of him or his history or anything."

"And _why_ would I do that my dear?"

"Because he's a filthy lying, cheating son of a whore who stole everything I have and left me. He used me, wrung me out, and left me to dry with debts piled up and many things I cannot afford. I need the fucker _gone_."

"So then... how do you intend to pay for my services? I'm highly sought after and my prices are not trivial."

You glance at your drink. "I was hoping we could come to some sort of... arrangement. I can pay you handsomely if you help me get back what he has taken, but until then, I'm not sure what I can offer."

The Irishman's brown eyes wander over you, taking everything in. "You could always offer a ride."

The temperature seems to rise ten degrees. "A-a ride?"

He tilts his head. "Did I stutter, pet? Yes, a ride. I think that would be more than enough to seal the deal. And if you are good for the payment, I can most certainly accept this as your I.O.U. If you go back on our deal... I have other ways of getting what people owe me."

"I'm good for it."

"Well then... a kiss and a ride to seal the deal? Usually deals with the Devil are done in blood, but I would so hate to spill yours. You're just too delicious to bleed dry."

You've never appreciated the subtle art of praising and insulting at the same time, but Jim is a master at it. Scooting closer in the booth, you lean in, brushing your lips against his, just the beginning of what you've promised.

He's clearly not satisfied with that, growling low and dragging you into his lap. His fingers dig into your hips as he grinds you against his rapidly hardening bulge, grinning an almost skull-like grin up at you. "Knickers off, little pet."

You scramble to pull them off while he slides his trousers to the floor. You let your mouth water at the sight of his cock and how much it wants you at the moment. Straddling him again, you tease his tip with your damp folds before sinking onto him, enclosing him in your wet heat.

Jim groans against your bosom and starts thrusting gently, eager for friction. You capture his lips and start to ride. The position is ideal for the gentle grinding of your hips, and your hands on his shoulders mean you can even lean back a bit, looking more wanton than normal. He seems intent on leaving bruises  where his fingers grasp you through the dress, a dress which is pooled around your legs and hiding everything from view. You're both going completely by feel.

When it becomes clear you aren't going fast enough, Jim holds you firmly in place and snaps his hips up several times, easily reaching deeper. You swallow a moan, aching for release. You're body is a tense spring, and you need just a bit more, just a little harder or faster and you'll be done, you'll come for him and only him.

"Ready then? On three... _one_!"

Jim pounds up without warning, and your orgasm takes you by surprise. You bury your face in his suit to try and muffle your scream, feeling him pulse and empty inside you soon after. The consulting criminal gently pulls your head down and gives you a searing kiss that you feel from your scalp to your toes.

"Thus with a kiss, the deal is done."


	85. Picking up the Pieces- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You swore you'd never trust or love again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Pippin: Reader was involved with Sherlock, Moriarty, Seb, others in the past. Perhaps Sherlock treated her love like an experiment, Moriarty...was himself, Seb was all passion and no love maybe? Use whichever characters for those? Now she distrusts men...And a certain DI is out to show her love the ways only he knows how? Cause he's Lestrade.

You're done with love.

At this point in your life, it is out of the question; you aren't even going to look for it or try and find it because of how many times your heart has been broken. Sherlock was always experimenting, seeing how far he could push before you snapped. Then there was Jim Moriarty... worst idea _ever_. The man was a bloody fantastic shag but extremely manipulative and violent. So, no thank you. After Jim was Seb, the man who would always take you home after the Boss was done with you, and Seb was hot and heavy, and oh my god sexy, but try as you might, there was no love; he never returned your affection and laughed in your face when you said it one night after he turned your world upside down.

So, no. You are finished with love and men. Completely. Totally. _Done_.

oOoOo

You're well on your way into your third pint when the Silver Fox who has clearly been eyeing you all evening starts chatting you up. Fairly buzzed, very nearly drunk and in no mood to play this game, you tell him in so many words to 'Bugger off' and stand to leave, but the alcohol has made you clumsy, and you stumble, falling to the floor. Surprisingly, you don't hit the ground as you are expecting.

"I've got you, luv. Come on, gotta get you home."

Silver Fox hails a cab and brings you back to his place, helping you up the stairs. You're too drunk to care at this point and very near to tears as you think how sad you're life's become. For all you know, this man could be a rapist or a murderer, but instead, he's extremely gentle. He pulls off your shoes and tucks you into his bed, leaving a glass of water and two aspirin on the side table; he even leaves a small bin by the bed in case you need to vomit during the night. The last thing you remember before blacking out is a gentle kiss to the forehead.

oOoOo

You're disoriented when you wake, struggling slightly in the sheets before you remember, the dull throbbing in your head reminding you of your idiocy the night before. You chug the water and the pills before fumbling with your shoes and trudging through to the sitting room. Silver Fox is just sitting up on the sofa, stretching and cracking his back. You watch him for a moment, curious to know more about the man who practically saved you last night, but then you snap out of it, remembering that you're off men... even if this one has a totally gorgeous body.

He turns and sees you, giving you a very hesitant smile. "Morning, luv."

You bite your lip, the epithet making your stomach clench. "Morning." So, he'd slept in here, not in the bed, and he'd taken care of you which was more than you could say for any of your previous relationships. "Thank you... for making sure I was all right. And for not taking advantage. I-I really shouldn't intrude on your time anymore." You make your way to the door, wanting to get home and shower.

"Can I see you again?"

You halt, one hand on the door knob. "I don't think that's a good idea," you whisper, tears of exhaustion and depression welling up in your eyes.

"I'm Greg, by the way. Never really did manage introductions last night," Silver Fox says, getting up and walking to you, reaching out a hand. "Come and sit down. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

You let him lead you back to the sofa, still warm from his body and smelling quite strongly of him. It's easy to imagine him sprawled here, breathing deep, a small smile on his face... _stop_!

"I... I'm off men. And love. Pretty much relationships in general."

"What happened?"

You can't trust him, you just can't, but you need to tell _someone_ , and everything just starts pouring out of your mouth as you sob on Greg's shoulder, spilling your dark secrets and terrible history with men to a total stranger.

"Well, clearly they are all stupid and blind, and I'm going to give Sherlock an earful when I see him again."

You start, looking up at him. "You... you know Sherlock?"

"Know him? Unfortunately, I rely on the git because he's good at what he does. I'm a Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard, homicide division. Sherlock helps us solve crimes.

"Lestrade."

"What?"

"He never called you 'Greg.' Always 'Lestrade.'"

The DI shook his head. "Absolute git. Now, please, let me take you out to dinner. It's really the least I can do. Let me give you a meal you don't have to cook, and there don't have to be any strings attached. It can just be two mates going out together."

It's by far the kindest thing anyone has said, and you find yourself accepting, giving him your number and address.

"I'll swing around about seven. Sound good?"

You head for the door again, glancing back to where he's sitting on the sofa. "Yeah, sounds great, actually.

oOoOo

You've been seeing Gregory Lestrade for six months.

Well, 'seeing' isn't necessarily the right term for it, but in all appearances, you guys are dating. The first month is spent getting to know each other and becoming friends, and it isn't until the third month that you let him kiss you for the first time. He's an absolute gentleman, slowly gaining your trust and taking everything at your pace. He never pushes or demands or insists. Everything is always up to you, and it's exactly what you need.

On the six month anniversary of your first dinner, he takes you back to the pub where you first met, nice and close to your flat as it turns out. You have fish and chips with a pint, laughing and holding his hand as you eat. Part of you is desperately shouting in your head that you love him, that this is the one, but a much louder part is beating it into submission, the pure fear of rejection more than you can bear... especially since the last person you said that to laughed in your face.

After dinner, he walks you back to your flat, holding you in a long hug that has become customary between the two of you. It can last up to five minutes, and it's just his way of holding you and reassuring you that everything will be just fine, that things will get better, and that he's perfectly okay with whatever you're willing to offer.

"Come up with me."

Greg pulls back, searching your face. "Are you sure?"

You give him a small smile. "Yeah. I am. I really am." Leaning in, you press a gentle kiss to his ear. "I-I want-" You almost can't say it. "I want you to make love to me, Gregory Lestrade."

He shivers, squeezing you a little tighter before letting you go. "Only if you pick a safe word. I'm not doing anything if you don't have a way to tell me to stop."

God, he really is just a perfect gentleman. "All right then. Anderson."

He makes a face, but you do get him to laugh. "God, I won't be able to do anything if you say that. Talk about a mood killer."

Snorting with laughter, you let the two of you in, leading Greg up to your flat for the first time since meeting him. Your place has always been off limits, mostly because it's filled with bad memories of bringing men back, but by letting Greg in, you're showing him that you trust him, and you really do. You trust him so completely.

Once the door is shut, he takes your coat and his, setting them both on the sofa. You both take off your shoes, and then you lead him to the bedroom.

oOoOo

It all starts with a kiss.

He's being very delicate with you, treating you like a rare, exotic flower, making sure you're used to his touch before he deepens it... and his tongue in your mouth, it's always amazing. It's very talented, strong and quick, able to make you relaxed and aroused at the same time. Your fingers stroke the back of his head, and he purrs, pulling back long enough to search your eyes. Seeing no resistance, he kisses down your neck, leaving no inch of skin untouched. It's not until your blouse is off and he's laying you on the bed that you realize what he's doing. Greg is deliberately erasing every single other touch or kiss or anything you've ever had and replacing them with him, with this... this worship of your body, of your soul.

He takes his time, getting to know every inch of you before baring your sex, and he strips himself completely before he even does that. Sliding you up on the bed, Greg kisses you again, trailing his tongue down your body, around your hardened nipples, and all the way down to your womanhood. Once there, he settles in, kissing and lapping at your wetness until you're gasping for breath, the air becoming stuffy. His fingers are next, stroking you gently open while his mouth works your nub, and after about five minutes of blissful torture, you come, the first orgasm you've had since Sebastian.

Greg wipes his face and crawls back up to kiss you so gently, even kissing away the few tears that have leaked from your eyes. "Are you all right?"

You nod, smiling at him. "That was... you are... amazing."

He smiles, kissing your lips again. "That wasn't everything, luv."

Your heart flips at the epithet now; he never says it flippantly, only when he means it or when you are devaluing yourself. Greg gets up and pulls a condom from his wallet, rolling it on and climbing back onto the bed. He sits down, legs spread and beckons to you. "I bet you've never had a real ride before, have you?"

You shake your head 'no,' slowly moving to kneel before him. He places his hands on your hips and guides you until you're sitting in his lap, his arousal pressed between your bellies. Gently, Greg helps you up with one hand and uses the other to guide himself inside you, taking his time and letting you feel every single inch of him until he's seated in you, your passage hugging and caressing him, your face a mask of bliss and surprise. The DI is marvelously thick, and he looks like he's found the greatest treasure in the world. Sliding his hands down to cup and knead your arse, he whispers in your ear, "Slowly now. Follow my rhythm. Feel how much I want you, how much you matter to me."

Your eyes roll back in your head and you obey, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you grind and rock, letting him slide out and then back in, out and then back in. The pleasure is a slow, simmering burn you've not felt before, his hands roaming your body once you fall into time with him, his lips kissing and sucking at your neck, not leaving marks because you haven't said whether or not you're fine with that. All you can hear is the sound of your combined breathing and the slow slide of skin and the creak of your bed.

Finally, you crave more, and beg him to speed up. "Take me, Greg," you whisper. "Please, make me come for you. Make me come again."

He stills, shifting to lay you down with your head against the pillows. Keeping you gathered in his arms, he finally speeds up, rolling and snapping his hips. The headboard starts smacking the wall, and you're unable to keep silent, chanting his name with every exhale. Greg likes that and starts doing the same with your name, keeping eye contact until everything is too much and you're screaming, body spasming as you shatter and come. He's taken by surprise, your total surrender to pleasure more than he can manage. He comes groaning your name, filling the condom and thrusting erratically.

When you come down enough to think properly again, Greg slides out long enough to clean himself up before tucking you both in and kissing your forehead. You curl up, head pillowed on his chest to listen to his heartbeat... and the words are out before you can stop them. " _I love you._ "

You stiffen, realizing that you just spoke that aloud, but Greg merely turns your head to look at him, his face shining with joy and... and...

"And I love you more than anything," he replies, sealing the promise with a kiss and holding you, safe and adored and loved.


	86. The Married Ones- Jim and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He picks you up and brings you home... to his hubby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by thebookworm214: So, yes, this is one of my requests, insisted upon for today as a 'birthday present' from ladycorvidae. I'm 21 now!!!!!!!1 I DO WHAT I WANT!!!

You're on the tube when you feel a hand brush the small of your back. You shift away from it and dismiss it as accidental. However, it happens again, the hand lingering. You turn and swat it away and wind up an indignant rant to its owner.

"Oi! Watch your h-hands..." you start but all righteous anger dies in your throat. Oh my. The owner of said hand is a six foot three man with the body of a _god_. Blonde curls pulled back into a short ponytail and bright blue eyes, as well as a cocky smile stare down at you.

"Sorry, love," he murmurs. "Tight quarters an' all that. Least I have the pleasure of brushing up against you and not some other person." He ends this with a wink that makes you flush. You duck your head to hide it, but he catches the rush of color to your face and he chuckles. "Awww, lookit you. No need to hide your face, dove, it doesn't suit you. And, if I may be so bold... d'you wanna come back to mine for a drink?" he asks, raising your face with a finger under your chin. Dear God... you have no idea what possesses you, but you nod an affirmative. His eyes light up and that grin stretches wider. "Oh good! Next stop is ours, then."

He ushers you off the tube and into a dark, posh car that takes you to an equally posh apartment building: a skyscraper, done in cool granite. You crane your neck to see the top as he tugs you along. Through the cool, silent lobby, into the elevator and all the way up to the penthouse suite. Your eyes go wide as you take in the opulent rooms and the clearly _very_ expensive furnishings. "Magpie, I'm home!" the tall man calls as he shuts the door behind him. You look at him, confused. A small, slight, pale man with dark hair and eyes and dressed in an impeccable suit comes out of one of the rooms. His eyes flick to you, an eyebrow raised.

"Hello, Tiger-love. Who is _this_?" he asks, his voice curious, the rich Irish brogue bordering on the edge of distaste. You suddenly feel very out of place and very awkward. The tall man grins and walks over and, to your surprise, kisses the shorter man soundly. Your eyebrows go up as the shorter man's fingers wind around the other man's neck. The kiss, after a long time, is broken. "Like that will distract me, Sebby," the man says, "I still want to know who _this_ is."

Sebby (or so he's called) grins and chuckles lowly. "I picked up our anniversary present on the tube, Jimmy," he says, loud enough for you to hear. "Couldn't help it. Doesn't she look _delicious_?"

Jim gives you another once-over, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You know... she _does_. Such a _good_ Tiger, bringing home its kill..." he murmurs, focusing on Seb again, scratching behind his ears. Seb looks like he'll start purring any second. You swallow hard. So you're now the plaything to a pair of married men. For reasons beyond your comprehension... you're all right with this.

"Well, let's move this to a more... _appropriate_ setting," Jim says. He walks over to you and takes your arm, escorting you down a hallway to a bedroom. The bed is enormous, with a strangely-patterned canopy that looks for all the world like someone got drenched in blood and rolled around on it. Jim and Seb are looking at you hungrily, and you feel a flash of heat between your thighs.

"Let the fun begin," Jim murmurs, crossing to you, winding an arm around your waist and setting his mouth on your neck. You gasp at the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin, sucking and nipping. Seb rumbles a growl and takes the other side; your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of two mouths on you. Soon, you feel hands tugging at your clothes. The kissing ceases for a moment, the three of you parting to look at each other. Your eyes are glazed over with want, as are those of the men in front of you. They're also sporting quite the tents in their trousers. Jim catches you looking and smirks.

"Like what you see? Good. So we'll show you ours..." he says, stripping off his clothes as he speaks, Seb following suit. Soon, they're bare before you, their arousals jutting upwards. "Now... you show us _yours_."

You swallow again and start removing your clothes. Your shirt and jeans hit the floor, then your bra, finally your knickers. You're naked and trapped by their gaze. Jim is smirking and Seb is grinning, the expressions predatory.

"Now... how are we going to go about this?" Seb murmurs, stalking towards you, putting you in mind of the name that Jim called him... _Tiger_. Jim stops him with a hand on his shoulder and whispers into his ear. Seb's face goes slack with want. "Jesus, Boss... you're going to kill me," he groans hoarsely. Jim chuckles and presses a kiss to Seb's shoulder.

"Go on, Tiger. Let me see you take her," he purrs. That sends a full-body flush along your skin as Seb resumes his path towards you. The light of the room glints off his dog tags, and soon, you're pressed skin-to-skin, his large hands on your hips as he claims your mouth, rutting gently against you, letting his cock brush the skin of your belly. He guides you to the bed, the musk of them both emanating from the sheets as you sink into the mattress. He trails his mouth down your neck to suckle at your breasts, causing you to gasp and arch into him. He chuckles as he takes a condom from the side-table and brushes against your folds. You whimper, and then feel the bed sink as Jim gets on it, his length already in a condom and glistening with lube. Suddenly, you realize what's going to happen, and you nearly pass out with the heady rush of pleasure that surges through you. Jim positions himself behind Seb and starts to gently work him open with his fingers. Seb groans into the crook of your neck and shoulder, his hands clenching somewhat tighter at your hips as he thrusts against you, not inside you yet.

Suddenly, Seb arches and lets out a hoarse shout as Jim grunts, driving into his lover. Seb finds his way into you and presses all the way to the hilt with a single, slow thrust. He's sheathed in you, and Jim is sheathed in Seb. You're a writhing mass of pleasure on the bed as all three of you adjust. And then... Seb begins to move. As he pulls out of you, he rocks himself back onto Jim's cock. Jim has Seb's dog tags in one hand like a leash, the other buried in his golden hair, things to hold on to for purchase as he thrusts. You roll your hips as Seb fucks you and Jim fucks Seb, the roll of Jim's hips carrying over to the blonde, making him take you harder, deeper. Seb is moaning, his mouth on your skin, his hands in your hair as he suckles and bites at the soft skin of your neck, leaving impressive marks there. With a particularly deep thrust from Jim, Seb comes, and that's enough to send the both of you over the edge. You cry out and keen as you pulse and flutter around Seb's manhood, and Jim growls and snarls as he spills himself into the condom, buried inside Seb. The smaller man carefully removes himself from his husband as soon as he's spent, and Seb slides out of you with a groan. They dispose of the condoms and share afterglow kisses, leaving you feeling a bit cold and used.

"Oh, how nasty of us... we've forgotten our present," Jim says. And soon, you're basking in their warmth and their affection, pressed between them as you fall asleep, the haze of pleasure fogging your brain. Just before you're lost to the world, a saying comes to mind; "'Tis better to give than to receive." And while you don't think the author of the quote quite had this in mind... you think it fits the situation perfectly.


	87. Animal- Riddell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After losing your virginity to the valiant hunter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My request, my chapter, I wanted more with Riddell.

Three months after that night in his tent sees you back in stuffy London, away from the African plains and that amazing hunter, the man who the next morning murmured sleepily in your ear, "Call me John," before making love to you again, worshipping your body with his, the man you confessed your love to in secret the day before your return voyage, your mother scandalized to discover you'd slept with someone (of course _she'd_ figure it out), the amazing human being you dream of every night and write to with strict instructions not to write back lest your parents intercept the letters. Since your return to the city, your Mother and Father have redoubled their efforts to engage you to the slime ball Alexander Anderson.

You hate him.

You hate everything about him, from his dark, greasy hair to sallow skin to pointed face to condescending manner that says women belong only in the household and nowhere else. It would be an absolute sod like this who has money enough to interest your family. As far as you know, Mother has said nothing to Father about your loss of your virginity, and you have a sneaking suspicion she never will; the scandal would be too much to bear, but they need to marry you off soon, just in case.

oOoOo

Then, after three more weeks of pure hell, you're allowed out of the house with your servant for a walk in Regent's Park when someone comes up to you both, bowing slightly.

"Pardon me, ladies, but would you know where I could find-" He glances up to your face, and those gorgeous brown eyes go wide.

" _John_ ," you breathe, hardly daring to believe that he's here. "But, I thought you were in Africa-"

"Left as soon as I could. I couldn't let you marry that mud rat-"

"I've missed you so much-"

"As I have."

The urge to kiss him is overwhelming, but you remember your lessons and offer your hand; he kisses it, his soft lips a great contrast to the rough skin of his palm. Blushing, you wink at him, remembering the last time you two were together... that is, until Anderson strolls up.

" _There_ you are. Your parents are frantic with worry-" He breaks off, face going ruddy to see another man kissing your hand. "And _what_ exactly are you doing with my fiancée's hand?" he asks, hands clenching into fist.

Riddell glances to Anderson and then back to you. "Is this him?"

You nod.

"Good." And with that, he punches Anderson right in the pointed nose. "That will teach you to try and make a move on _my_ woman, you scum. Now, get out of my sight before I do worse than that. I've hunted more threatening game than _you_ , I'll have you know."

The creep scurries off, and you turn back to John, relief and gratitude shining in your eyes. Your maid places a gentle hand on your shoulder, reminding you that you need to return home.

"A moment, Anna." Looking back to the man you love, you give him a very brief kiss, reveling in his scent before you head back.

oOoOo

The very next day, you're in the drawing room with your sewing when the servants announce the arrival of one 'John Riddell'. It takes everything you have not to bound out of your seat and throw your arms around him when he enters the room, dapper as ever in... _oh_. He's not in his hunting gear but a proper gentleman's suit, all black with a waistcoat, a gold watch chain, and shiny black shoes. He slips you a wink before heading through to meet with your Father of all people.

It's impossible to sit still while they meet, and you have to set down your stitching when you prick your finger for the third time in five minutes. Only the night before you confessed everything to Anna, bringing her fully into your confidence, and she brings you a glass of water to try and help give you something to focus on.

 _Finally_ , the doors to Father's study open, and he and John come out, shaking hands and laughing together. You hear the end of the lion story he told you all those months ago. Your Father is smiling. "I shall leave you to it," he finishes, _and then he leaves_.

Nodding to Anna, she also exits, closing the doors behind her as John walks forward and kneels before you, his expressive face both grinning and smirking and undressing you in the same gaze. Taking your hand in his, he pulls a small box from his pocket; he opens it, and you gasp.

"Everything is settled with your Father, my wealth far surpassing what that scum was offering," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. "And he has also given his blessing, so, my love, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Your eyes shine with tears, happier than you've been since leaving Africa.

"Of course, Mr. Riddell. Of course I shall."

"Call me John," he replies, slipping the diamond onto your finger.

You giggle, making him smile even more. " _John_ , then."

oOoOo

You barely remember anything of the wedding, the hours leading up to it a blur of white and flowers, the service itself dull in comparison to the man before you, but the reception is memorable for certain. You drink from each other's goblets, he feeds you some of your food, and, of course, he leads you out onto the dance floor.

John's feet are swift and sure, guiding you with practiced ease. Your face is the picture of joy, and you laugh as he twirls you through the faster songs and sigh with content when he holds you close through the slower waltzes. Eventually, the toasts are given, the cake eaten, and the two of you are finally alone in the bedroom of the hotel.

"When do we leave for Africa?"

"Three days, my love. No need to rush, and I rather would like to... _get reacquainted_ with you before we go off on another adventure."

"Yes... but the reacquaintance itself should _be_ quite the adventure," you shoot back, giving him your best innocent smile even though you are anything but.

John's brown eyes go dark; in just a few seconds, he finally has you in his arms and takes your mouth, growling like one of his game animals. He tastes even better than you remember, your fingers threading through his silver-brown hair when he licks his way down your throat. "You'll _never_ have to wear another corset after today," he purrs, sucking on the skin where your neck meets your shoulder.

"Wh-what if... my parents visit? Or we... come back?"

John looks back at you, pressing your foreheads together. "You are my wife now, and I'm freeing you from those constraints placed on you by your parents. The only rules you need worry about now are mine, and I rather want to see you bare before me."

Blushing, you slowly take off the wedding gown, managing well enough until you get to the undergarments, especially the damned corset. John's disrobing at the same time, and manages to get his jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and boots off. "John... can you..."

"With _pleasure_." He pulls out his hunting knife (oh God, the same one from your first time), and he cuts through the ties easily enough, baring your chest to him. The hunter groans, dropping the blade onto his clothes and running his hands along your breasts, causing you to arch into the touch. "I've missed this... you're so beautiful," he murmurs.

You tug at his trousers, helping get them off. "On your back, dear. I would look upon your face tonight."

Any color left in his eyes is gone when he crushes your mouths together. "Going to ride me? Shouldn't I be asserting my power over you in bed?" he teases.

Tugging off your bloomers and stockings, you tilt your head slightly to the side. "Well... you could do that, of course... but I'm no blushing virgin bride. You saw to that _quite_ effectively, you scoundrel. Besides... you love it when I ride you like a stallion."

Groaning, John slips out of the rest of his clothes and crawls into bed, laying back with his head on the pillows and beckoning to you; he's already hard. You keep your coy smirk and climb up between his legs. Grasping his length with one hand, you lean in and lick a slow strip from his base to tip, swirling your tongue around the heated skin and staring at his face. Your husband's jaw is agape, eyes rolling back into his head while you work him over. Chuckling, you suck on the head of his length for a few moments before crawling up his body and dragging your folds against his arousal; he taught you well in the weeks you were together in Africa. Reaching behind you, you guide him into your heat, sinking slowly down on him with a whimper. John's hands gently grasp your hips, guiding you subtly as you rock. Your hands trail over his chest, brushing his nipples and running up to cup his face, threading through his hair, all while you rock and grind.

He lets you do this for all of five minutes.

You close your eyes for a kiss, and as soon as you are no longer looking, he _moves_. Lifting you off him, John sets you on your hands and knees, guiding your fingers to the headboard. " _Don't_ let go," he growls in your ear, grasping your hips from behind and thrusting back in sharply. You whimper his name, rocking back against him, but he holds you still; he continues to hold you still until you're biting your lip to the point of bleeding, and then he's pounding into you, taking you just like the animals he hunts. You can hear him grunting with exertion, the sound of slapping skin loud in your ears. He goes faster and faster, thicker and hotter with every passing second, then he's leaning forward, sinking his teeth into the tender skin on the back of your neck, and you shriek, moaning with arousal and aching for release. He's an absolute _beast_ , fucking like a wild animal, and with a tug of his teeth and a sharp snap of his hips, you're lost. You come hard with his name on your lips, loud and wanton and bringing him over with you. He shudders and follows, filling you and marking you as his, his and no one else's.

John holds you very tenderly when he pulls out, laying you down gently on your side and curling up around you. Slowly, you roll over to face him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"How long until we can do that again?"


	88. Touching What's Mine- Irene and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think it's Jim who comes home... but it isn't...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: I would love some Irene and Jim pleasuring/torturing Reader? ;)

You're lounging on Jim's couch with a book, feet tucked under you as you read. You hear someone come up behind you and they start carding their fingers through your hair. You sigh and close your eyes, leaning into the touch.

"That feels nice, Jim," you murmur. Suddenly there's a sharp tug, breaking you from your reverie. Your eyes fly open and you find yourself staring into the face of The Woman: Irene Adler. Her carmine lips curve up into a smile.

"Well well... I knew Jimmy had another little pet. So _this_ is where he's been hiding you. Naughty boy," she purrs. "He _knows_ just how much I love to share." You swallow hard and suddenly she's kissing you, her soft lips on yours, forcing your mouth open as her tongue explores it. You hear the click of the door and suddenly Irene is gone from you, leaving her lipstick smeared on your mouth and you feeling slightly dizzy from the lack of air.

"What have I told you about _touching my things_ , Adler," Jim growls. She smirks, still looking impeccable despite the lipstick smudges.

"That I can do what I like?" she says, her tone daring. Apparently, Jim is in a spectacularly good mood today, because he chuckles.

"This once, Adler. Next time it happens... well, I'd say shoes, but I really think that you being made into a whip or a riding crop would be more appropriate," he says.

She smirks and nods, then sets right back to work, claiming your mouth, fingers tugging your hair to make your neck arch back. You've never been kissed this thoroughly by a woman before, and you're seeing stars. The you gasp as you feel a hand tracing your curves; it's not Irene's, her hands are still wound in your hair. Jim must be getting ideas.. oh boy. Irene breaks the kiss, picking up on his train of thought.

"You know, Jim dear, I think we can move this elsewhere. I want to hear your pretty pet screaming for us. Don't you?" she asks.

Jim smiles widely, the expression feral.

"Irene, that is brilliant."

You're ushered to the bedroom and stripped; they lay you out on the bed, then Irene pulls out a black bag that you didn't see her fetch. From it, she pulls some rope and a blindfold. Jim is nearly ecstatic.

"You may annoy the fuck out of me, but I _love_ the way you think, my dear," he purrs. She smirks as she ties you to the bed, hand and foot, open and spread before them. The last thing you see before the blindfold goes on is Jim staring hungrily at your sex. Now you're trussed and blind; you have no idea what's going to happen to you, and you can't help but feel the thrill of anticipation and arousal run through you.

You arch upwards and gasp as you feel a set of hands: Irene's, judging by the long fingernails. They trail up and grasp your breasts, pinching and twisting your nipples without mercy, making you cry out while Jim sets his mouth on your torso, kissing along your ribcage; you can feel the soft rasp of his stubble on your skin as he steadily makes his way downwards. You expect to feel his mouth on you next, but all touch is removed, making you feel cold. Whimpering and arching, you try to find the hands and mouth that were on you just moments before. Irene chuckles.

"Oh, look at this. Precious pet wants _more_. Think we should give it to her, Jim?" she says. Jim laughs.

"Perhaps, Adler. Perhaps," he says, his Irish brogue teasing. You whine in frustration as you settle back on the mattress. Then you shriek as you feel the unexpected warmth of Jim's tongue on your womanhood, lapping at your folds and suckling on your clit. You want so badly to wind your fingers in his fine, dark hair, but your hands, literally, are tied. All you can do is buck into his mouth and moan as he pleasures you.

You're winding up to the end when his touch leaves you. You nearly cry, so aroused that it hurts. Then you feel the most wonderful thing: the hot length of his cock pressed against your folds. You arch and buck, desperate to have him inside you.

"Ah ah ah, little pet; he'll only take care of you if you can take care of _me_ ," Irene purrs in your ear. You swallow hard, understanding now where this is going. You hear the soft sound of clothes being shed, then the sharp, musky scent of her fills your senses as she straddles your chest. You've never done this before, but, if you go by what _you_ like... you think you can do it. Your tongue darts out, licking along her slit, then up to circle her clit. She purrs as you explore, tentative then gaining confidence as you continue, using her noises to figure out what she wants. Jim is still sliding against you, slightly distracting, until finally, when you think you can't stand it anymore, Irene gasps and arches against you; you feel her pulse as she comes, shuddering.

"Ooooh... _very_ good," she says, her breath coming out in short pants. "I do believe you've earned a reward. Jim... fuck her hard. Little pet has performed well, after all."

Jim groans and _finally_ sinks into you. He's clearly been waiting to do this, as he thrusts into you, hard and fast, snapping his hips, digging his fingers into your skin. It's over in mere minutes, him coming inside you with a hoarse shout and a groan, curses spilling from his lips. You keen and cry out as his end triggers yours, jerking and fluttering around him. He pulls out of you and Irene unties you, rubbing the skin of your ankles and wrists to soothe away the burn and sting of the ropes. Jim removes the blindfold and kisses you deeply, tasting you and Irene on your tongue.

"Very nice, Jimmy. I think I'll have to borrow her more often," Irene says. Jim snorts.

"Only if I get to watch," he shoots back. You smirk as you sprawl out on the bed, feeling very satisfied. You wouldn't mind that... not at all.


	89. Instructions- Irene and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never agree to something with the detective unless he tells you what it is first...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: I would love to see Irene and Sherlock with reader, maybe Irene teaching Sherlock some tricks of the trade perhaps? ;)
> 
> Requested by mormoriarty: Can I ask for one with Irene and Sherlock fighting over reader? Or anything really with both Irene and Sherlock...

You're half asleep in John's chair when Sherlock decides that it's a good time to talk to you.

"Would you be willing to assist me with an experiment later?"

While that is a very loaded question, you are quite intent on your nap and dismiss the thought. "Yeah, sure, whatever Sherlock," you mumble, curling up and hoping he'll go away so you can sleep. Thankfully, he does, but not for long. Barely an hour later, he's shaking you awake, and you growl in annoyance. "The _fuck_ , Sherlock?"

"You agreed to help earlier."

"I was SLEEPING!"

"Yes, but it can only happen now. She's only available right now."

"Wait, _she_?"

"Yes, The Woman. Do try and keep up."

Now you're wide awake, eyes snapping open to reveal Miss Irene Adler in all her glory standing in the middle of 221B Baker Street's sitting room. She's smirking at you, making you feel very self conscious.

"Are you going to shag her right here, Sherlock? For what you were asking, I thought you would need the bedroom."

That is how, barely five minutes later, you are stripped bare and bound to the headboard of Sherlock's bed. Irene is sitting in a nearby chair, her high-heeled feet resting on the duvet. She instructs Sherlock to strip as well, clearly eyeing his naked form appreciatively. "So thin and wiry. I still say I could cut myself on those cheekbones. Your hips too, by the look of things. Now then, kneel between her legs... _there's_ a good boy. Start with just your tongue at her clit, pretend you're a cat lapping at milk... ohhh, hear that moan? She _likes_ that. Trail it down to her folds. Same technique only you're going to also fuck her with your tongue. Shorter thrusts... yes, watch how she responds."

You're about ready to start screaming curses to the high heavens. Sherlock's tongue feels fucking fantastic, and Irene's voice is like velvet and more arousing than you have ever given her credit for. Your eyes are screwed up in pain and pleasure as you near the edge-

"Stop! Don't let her finish yet. Make her _earn_ it, darling."

Sherlock groans softly, pulling away and wiping off his face.

"Kiss her. Make her taste herself in your mouth."

He obeys, and the kiss is tangy and dark, a hint of the forbidden pleasures in it. Irene is humming in approval. "Her nipples are a bit neglected. Same technique as her clit but add teeth and _tug_."

Sherlock looks excited by this one and starts with your right nipple, sucking on it until it's nice and hard before releasing it and flicking the red bud of flesh with the tip of his tongue. You twist and moan, pulling at the restraints, but you cry out when he adds his teeth, worrying the bud and tugging, seeing how far he can lift your breast with his mouth before it becomes too difficult.

"Now the other one. Do be fair, dear."

It's utter torture. Irene has him spend ten whole minutes here, and you're desperately rubbing your legs together by the end of it.

" _Very_ good. Now, untie her, get her on her hands and knees, then re-secure her wrists."

You sincerely hope that he's going to get to start going to town soon. Irene trails one hand down your spine, and you can hear her smile.

" _Go ahead_."

Rolling on a condom, Sherlock finally takes you, driving in fast and hard, clearly as desperate for release as you. You come almost instantly, begging and crying with relief, but he's not had as much of the physical wind up you have. It takes much longer to bring him over, his hands at your hips driving you back onto him, the headboard violently thumping against the wall, his grunts and groans of pleasure. By the time he's ready and manages to climax, filling the condom, you've come again, your passage tightening even more around him.

Slipping out, Sherlock slumps to the bed, leaving Irene to untie you. Once she has, the Woman kisses you soundly, her tongue doing a once over of your mouth before releasing you and doing the same to Sherlock. She sees the almost forlorn look you give her as she leaves the room. "Don't worry, darling. I think I shall come back for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized as we got working that Irene shows up two chapters in a row. Hope you don't mind


	90. Tiger and his Prey- Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You completely understand the cat related nickname now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do a sequel to the alleyway after that ending. And I wanted to see Seb have his wicked way with the narrator. So this one is my brain baby.

_"Gave her a test run for you, Sebby. Tight as a vise and hot as damnation. Have fun, but don't damage her too badly. I might want another taste."_

_With that, Jim turns on his heel and drags Molly from the alley._

 

You only stand there for a few minutes before you feel a large hand on your shoulder, steering you down the other end of the alley. The blonde is muttering under his breath, mostly curses, but you catch a slightly concerned note in his voice as well. He ushers you into a black car that speeds off, taking you through the city to a rather posh apartment building. The flat he brings you to is no less impressive, sporting all manner of expensive things. You swallow hard, remembering why you are there; while you don't appreciated being treated like an object, you can't help the thrill of arousal and desire for adventure you get when you think about what is happening.

"It's Sebastian, by the way."

"What?"

"My name. It's Sebastian. Or Seb, Sebby, or Tiger. Well, only Jim calls me that last one, but that's beside the point. Just thought you should know."

You give him your name as well, suddenly feeling a bit shy. The feeling comes in full force when he whirls on you and backs you against the nearest wall, his blue eyes visibly darkening while he looks at you.

"While I'm not a fan of Jim's... _seconds_ , I think I can make the exception with you. This will not be quick... you will _certainly_ enjoy it. You. Are. _Mine_."

Now you can see where he gets the 'Tiger' nickname from, your eyes closing as he takes your mouth, rough and powerful. He molds your lips to his, growling and nipping, forcing your lips to part so that his tongue can dip into your mouth, taking exactly what it wants. You can barely breathe, lost in his domination of you, the sensation of his hands sliding all over your body, touching everywhere they can.

All too soon in your mind, he's pulled back and is tugging you after him down the hallway and into the bedroom, locking the door behind you before forcing you up against it and reclaiming your mouth. He takes his time now, letting the kisses smolder and burn, winding you up, and when he's gotten all he can out of kissing you, Seb throws you to the bed, stripping you with practiced ease. It's all you can do not to cover yourself when his lust-filled gaze rakes across your naked form. His black clothes fall into a puddle of fabric at his feet, giving you a good, long look at his cock while he rummages around for a condom.

Once he finds one and rolls it on, he hovers over you on the bed, pinning your wrists and staring into your eyes. He's clearly looking for something while you struggle against his grip, trying to rock up against the length just brushing your sex. When it's clear that he's not moving, you relax into the bed and close your eyes, admitting a kind of defeat.

You hear a snarl, one that almost echoes in the room before you're roughly dragged up and he's taking you from behind, sharply thrusting in and setting a brutal pace. One of his hands winds your hair in his fist, pulling mercilessly like a makeshift leash, the other palming your breasts; his supple fingers work and squeeze at your flesh, pinching your nipples until you start to stiffen, his lips growling filthy words in your ear until you shudder and scream, clenching around his length and coming in a blaze of heat and light. He follows soon after, biting at your shoulders until he stills.

Seb gently, almost tenderly pulls out, laying you down and cleaning himself up. He crawls into bed a few moments later, wrapping you in his arms and burying his face in your neck, drifting off to sleep.

oOoOo

You wake some time later to someone poking you, or rather, trying to poke Seb and missing because you're in the way.

"Budge over, Tiger. I want some room here."

Jim's home. You nudge Seb in the ribs and he wakes up enough to scoot back, still holding you tight. The smaller man slips into bed and snuggles up against you.

"Ooooh... not only is she a good fuck, but she's a regular _furnace_. Nice to cuddle with. Soft. Think we'll keep this one, Tiger."

"Whatever y'say, Boss," Seb mumbles into your hair.

"Indeed. Whatever. _I_. Say."


	91. Tiger Likes You- Seb and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a not where you expected to get picked up. Mind you, you really should have seen it coming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Startwiththeridingcrop: Hmmm I wonder how that Seb and Jim would react to finding the reader in a sex shop perhaps? Maybe Seb could spot her and take her back to Jim's flat and they could show her how the toys work?

They say curiosity killed the cat, and you're starting to see why that is.

You ducked into this little sex shop in Soho out of sheer curiosity but are now rethinking this, at the time, 'great' decision since everything (and you do mean _everything_ ) has you blushing like a virgin; seeing as the one lover you've actually had is an absolute, complete douche bag and you are well rid of him, you may as well be.

Starting to head for the exit, you notice a tall, rather muscled blonde man watching you. He's a few inches over six feet, tan, blue eyed, and definitely drool worthy. Then, oh gods above, he walks over to where you're standing.

"Have you ever used these before?" he asks, gesturing to the cuffs and riding crops you're currently looking at. His voice is a bit rough, but soft, bringing images of prowling cats to mind.

Blushing an even deeper shade of red, you mumble, "No."

"Would you like to?"

Your head snaps up, and you stare at him, eyes wide. Did he just... did he just offer? The thought of this man taking you, tying you up, torturing you... you have to swallow hard and fight against the flash of heat that goes through your body. If he notices, he gives no indication apart from a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I have a friend who's really good at it, taught him everything he knows... well, _almost_ everything." There's a definite twinkle in his eye; you're not imagining that. Emboldened, horny, and very curious, you reply, "If you kiss me first, then I might consider it."

That seems to be good enough for him. Grabbing your hand in his (rough, callused, warm), he tugs you from the store and down a nearby alleyway. You start to ask something, but the question flies from your head when he shoves you up against the wall and kisses you.

The blonde's mouth is warm and wet, his tongue lapping at your lips until you open your mouth to him, and _god_ , can he _kiss_. He's crowding you against the unyielding bricks, one leg insinuated between yours and grinding against your hip, soft growls emanating from his chest.

Far too soon, it's over, the blonde pulling back and smirking down at you. The flush in your cheeks is even more obvious now, and you can feel how kiss-stung your lips are. "F-forward, are we?" you tease. "I don't even know your name."

"Sebastian Moran. Although my friend, Jim, will give you the spiel on my nicknames: Seb, Sebby, and Tiger."

"Funny. You put me in mind of a jungle cat in the store."

"So, is that a yes, then, miss?"

You give him your name and smile, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Yes, it is."

oOoOo

Fifteen minutes later, Seb is leading you into a rather large penthouse flat, simple yet impressive. Everything is black and silver, except for various red accents in the form of blankets, cushions, and even a bit of carpet. The blonde leads you down a hallway into a _really_ posh bedroom and orders you to stay while he goes and gets Jim. You do, shifting your weight from foot to foot and fidgeting in anticipation.

About five minutes later, Seb strolls back in, a shorter, pale, dark-haired man behind him. The man's face lights up when he sees you, smirking and obviously undressing you with his sharp, brown eyes. They linger at your breasts before sliding down to your crotch, the smirk on his lips growing wider as you clearly start blushing once again. He strolls forward, getting right in your personal space, his lips almost brushing yours. "Jim Moriarty," he purrs, closing the distance.

He kisses very differently from Seb, taking just enough time to learn your mouth before exploiting every piece of knowledge he has so that you're never silent, always gasping or moaning, or begging, your voice swallowed into his body. His fingers easily work your clothes off, stripping you bare and guiding you back to the bed. You feel Seb's hands encircle your wrists and drag you up the mattress while you watch Jim retrieve a pair of plush handcuffs that he uses to secure you to the headboard.

"Don't you make a _pretty_ little picture," he purrs. "Now Tiger... would you like to taste first?" He hands what looks like a thin, black cord to the blonde, drawing attention to the fact that he stripped while your attention was diverted. Seb climbs on top of you, his arousal hard, hot, and leaking on your skin. The weight of him is just right, his mouth teasing yours in a kiss before he licks his way down to your breasts. You watch wide eyed as his tongue brushes over your right nipple, lapping at the sensitive flesh until it begins to harden. Then his mouth closes over it and begins to suck, his insincere tongue still teasing and playing while you twist and pull against the cuffs. All too soon, he switches, giving your left one the same treatment while his fingers keep the right one hard. Once both of them are pert and at attention, he brings the black cord up for you to look at; you make the connection as he attaches each end to your nipples: _clamps_.

They hurt, pinching and pulling and making you whimper, but suddenly he's licking them again like a cat and GOD the stimulation. Your breath sobs in your throat, your hands trying desperately to get free and bury themselves in the golden, curly hair of the larger man.

"Ohhh, she _likes_ that, Tiger," Jim purrs from the side, producing a riding crop. He's also naked and hard, toying with the leather in his hands. Seb sits back and lets Jim trail the leather over your body, lightly smacking your thighs to get you to open them wider. As soon as you do, they both stare, really observing your sex with keen eyes.

" _Please_ , Boss, lemme go first. I did find her, after all.

"Patience, Tiger, is a virtue."

"You _always_ fucking say that."

"Yes, and this time I _mean it_ ," Jim growls, shoving Seb out of the way and pulling a vibrator out of the side table before kneeling between your legs. Flicking on the toy, he presses it to your clit, rubbing and teasing the sensitive nub. Your gasp of surprise quickly turns into a moan of pleasure; you've always used your fingers in the past, and this is far, far better. Jim is a master with it, pulling your first orgasm from you in three minutes flat and going slower until he coaxes you into a second one.

Trembling slightly, your heart pulsing between your legs, you manage to whisper, "N-never... felt this... this good..."

Jim chuckles in response, stealing a rough, claiming kiss. "Tiger's turn," he purrs, eyeing Seb and moving out of the way. The blonde already has the condom on and is holding a bottle of stimulating lube in his large, tan hand; the stuff is cold at first when he applies it to your clit, letting some trail down along your folds, still glistening with your release. In almost no time at all, he lines up with you and, smirking, thrusts into you with one motion.

Your back arches and mouth opens in a soundless scream of pleasure at bring filled, his first slow thrusts bringing his protection to your attention... it's a ribbed condom. Without warning, Seb starts going to town, easily speeding up and driving into you. His mouth drops to your nipples, tongue lapping once again at them, and this time you do scream, his name pouring from your lips over and over again. Satisfied with that, the blonde busies himself with sucking a large love bite to the skin of your neck, forcing you to turn your head and look right at Jim. The smaller man is unashamedly wanking where he is, kneeling on the bed to the side; his gaze is hungry, predatory, making you wonder if he's wishing he were the one doing this to you.

A low growl in your ear snaps your attention back to Seb. "Not-good-enough-for-you?" he snarls, snapping his hips and grinding down hard against your clit. You can't even manage an answer, the sudden stimulation making it difficult to think. You can't breathe, can't focus, his blue eyes boring into yours while he goes impossibly faster, so fast that your entire sex feels like it's on fire when you finally come, shattering around him and screaming his name. Sebastian comes a few thrusts later, burying himself even deeper into your body as he shudders, emptying himself into the condom. "F-fuck," he groans in your ear. You almost miss Jim's growl as he follows, the bed shifting when he goes to rinse off his hands.

Your whole body aches when Seb finally slides out, removing the clamps and gently kissing your swollen nipples. Your eyes start drifting shut when you feel lips at your ear. "Ever so well done. Tiger _likes_ you, pet."

The Irishman undoes the cuffs, and both men tuck you in, Seb crawling under the covers and spooning you against his chest, asleep in minutes. Jim hangs around, waiting for Sebastian to fall asleep before kissing you briefly.

"I'll be back later, pet, want ever so much to see you bound and spread just for _me_ , but Tiger gets awfully jealous. Suppose that just means you'll have to be _quiet_."


	92. Been too Long- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home alone once again, and this lack of sex from your boyfriend is really getting to you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Thank you so much for this! I'd love to see Greg walk in on the narrator masturbating, maybe she thought he wouldn't be home until later and just needed a wank, and he helps out. Maybe he learns how to use a vibrator on her?

It has been _forever_ since you and your boyfriend have been home at the same time. Your teaching job has you away during the day and grading papers in the evening, but his work as a Detective Inspector pulls him out of the flat at all hours of the day... so it's been a few weeks since the last time you had sex.

Greg is currently on another case, so with the knowledge that he won't be home for ages, you shut the door to your bedroom and strip, pulling out your supplies and laying down on his side of the duvet, breathing in his lingering scent. Closing your eyes, you lube up your fingers and trail them down to your clit, imagining that Greg is doing it. You picture his sexy, coy grin, the way his fingers tease you endlessly, the slight lip lick he does when his mouth is extremely dry, the way his eyes twinkle when they look at you. So absorbed are you in the fantasy, dreaming and moaning his name, that you don't realize he's home until he walks into the bedroom.

The door shuts and your eyes open, taking in his expression, and you roll yourself up in the duvet, trying to disappear, you face burning with embarrassment. You think he's left until you feel a small puff of air on your feet and his lips at your ankles. Greg gently unrolls you from your cocoon and kisses his way up your legs, leaving little nips and licks on the way. It feels too good to be allowed, but part of that has to also be how long it's been since you've been together.

Greg's mouth soon closes over your sex, licking and sucking at your sensitive areas, and while it feels good, a nice slow burn, it's not what you really need. Searching until you find it, you hand him your vibrator. "Please... please Greg..."

When he doesn't move, you manage to open your eyes, seeing the look of confusion and surprise on his face. "Have you ever used one before?"

His eyes snap back to yours, his expression darkening. "I don't think I have, but I'm sure you'll be more than willing to teach me. In fact-" he stands and strips, stark naked before climbing on top of you, "-teach me well enough and I'll fuck you into next week." His tip brushes along the outside of your folds, barely enough to really make a difference.

"T-turn it on... the button on the bottom... th-then work my... my clit with it."

He obeys, rubbing the tip in slow circles against your sensitive bud. Your eyes roll back in your head, and you start grinding up against the toy, your body slowly writhing beneath him.

"Do you imagine this is my cock when you do this? My fingers? My _tongue_?"

You moan loudly, whimpering as he flicks it up a setting, quickly getting the hang of it. He's dangerously close to making you come, speeding up the motions of his hand to combine with the toy, but before you can crest, he turns it off and drops it to the side, sinking into you in one go.

Greg groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Been-too-long," he whispers, quickly starting to pound into you.

"Y-yes... ohplease... more... miss you... so much..."

Neither of you manages to last long, the desperation and sheer lack of a sex life having you both finishing in less than five minutes. Greg holds you close while you shudder and twitch, gulping in air like you'll never breath again. He eventually pulls out and cleans you both up before lying back down next to you on the bed and kissing your temple.

"Thanks for the lesson, luv."

"Anytime."


	93. Too Shy for Words- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the best way for a very shy girl to confess her love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MofBaskerville: John has a sweet secret admirer leaving him sexy and romantic notes and he figures out who it is and they have an amazing date (and sex after)!

You've known John Watson for about three years now, and had a crush on him for nearly as long. However... you're _shy_ , so painfully shy that you can't admit your feelings to his face. You're at your lonely flat when a flash of brilliance strikes you: if you can't do it in person, you can always leave him an anonymous letter! That should work! You set about at once and go shove it in his pigeon hole (1) before the sudden bout of bravery leaves you. Then all you can do is pace and pray that he either gets the letter, or throws it out and spares you the misery. You see him in the halls at work the next day.

"Hullo, John!" you say, ever chipper. "How are things?"

"Just fine. Weird stuff, though... got a letter in my box. No clue who it's from. Very sweet, though," he says, looking somewhat bemused. Your heartbeat becomes a very loud thudding in your ears. He thinks it's sweet... well that's good!

"Odd," you muse. "Wonder if they'll keep it up? At least you _get_ mail!" you say with a slight laugh, checking your box to find it, as always, empty. He shrugs.

"We'll see."

oOoOo

Encouraged by his reaction, you leave him a letter once a week: some poetry, a kind word, a funny joke, a compliment about his character. Every week, he regales you with what he's found. You can tell, with an internal smile, that he looks forward to finding the letter.

"Wish they'd at least give me a hint as to who they are," he says one day.

"Why?" you ask him, curious.

"So I can thank them, maybe ask her out for a cuppa," he says. You raise an eyebrow.

"What makes you think it's a woman? Maybe you have a lovely lad pining after you," you joke. His eyebrows go up and you can't help but laugh.

"No, it's a woman," he says, voice sure. "The handwriting gives it away." You feel your heart beat a little faster. "There are some advantages to having the 'world's only consulting detective' as a flatmate. I've learned from him," he continues.

"Well..." you say, not able to think of anything else to say to that.

That must have done it. He grins. "So... about that cuppa..." he says.

Your eyes go wide and face burns a bright red; you try to make a quick getaway, but he catches your arm. He holds you still and you stare at your shoes, too mortified to look him in the face. "Why didn't you just tell me? Although, I do admit, the letters were nice," he says gently. You risk a glance up at him; his warm blue eyes are crinkled at the corners in a good-humored smile. You swallow hard.

"I... I.... I'mhorriblyshyandcan'tsayanythingrightaroundthepersonIlike..." you blurt out. He manages to unravel your one long stream of words and nods, then chuckles a little.

"I think you did just fine," he murmurs, then bends and presses a soft kiss to your mouth. Any and all shyness burns away as you wind your arms around his neck and return the kiss with gusto. His hands wind in your hair and tug gently, causing you to gasp. You break the kiss, both of you panting slightly, your eyes shining with want.

"Let's go back to mine... I want to show you just how _much_ I liked those letters," he murmurs in your ear, and you nearly melt as a rush of heat blooms between your thighs. You hold his hand and follow him.

When you get to his flat, not a five-minute walk later, he slams the door behind him and pins you against it claiming your mouth again. You let out a soft whimper and that makes him growl. He guides you gently to the bedroom and you're helping each other shed your clothes within moments, pausing only to kiss and trail your mouth over each other's skin. You discover that he loves it when you nibble along his jaw, and he quickly retaliates by finding out that having your neck and collarbones kissed is guaranteed to turn you into a puddle.

He softly lays you down on the bed and nudges your legs open with his, quickly rolling on a condom and pressing the head of his cock against your slick folds. You gasp and arch up into him, desperate for contact, not quite believing that you're actually _doing this_ with him. Grinning, he sinks into you, his expression quickly forming into one of almost intense concentration. He's wonderfully thick, stretching you and opening you in the way you haven't been for so long. After he gives you time to adjust, he's quickly moving, thrusting and snapping his hips. You reciprocate, bucking underneath him, quickening the pace, desperate for release. His hands are on your hips as he pounds into you, dropping his face to kiss and mark your neck. You feel him begin to twitch and pulse, signaling his impending end, and that does it for you. You come with a hoarse cry of his name as you shatter and flutter around him, bringing him over the edge as you clench your muscles. He groans and thrusts erratically as he fills the condom, then collapses, catching his weight on his elbows as you both breathe hard recover. He pulls out and rolls over, disposing of the condom and helping clean you both up. You snuggle up against him, smiling softly.

"P.S.... this was way better than a cuppa," you murmur into his ear. His resulting laugh warms your insides. You're glad that you had that silly idea now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- This is what they call mail cubbies in Britain


	94. Family Domestic- Sherlock, Mycroft, and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are worse things than having Sherlock and Mycroft fight over you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by mormoriarty: Something with Sherlock and Mycroft fighting over the reader, then sexytimes while John looks on. oh and btw could some of the fighting over the reader turn incestuous? because mycoft/john/sherlock/reader is a kink of mine :)

You don't mean to get in the middle of a Holmes family argument, much less start one... but then again, you never mean to start arguing with Sherlock whenever it happens; you hate being outwitted, especially by someone who acts like a spoiled brat.

Mycroft is sitting in John's armchair when you come down for breakfast (still in one of John's old sleeping shirts and a pair of knickers), but you don't realize the British Government is there until he says, "Good Morning."

The smoothness of his voice has you jumping and Sherlock scowling; you flush a brilliant shade of crimson and dart into the kitchen to put the kettle on, although you no longer think you need your morning coffee; the shock of Mycroft seeing you practically naked took care of the lingering vestiges of sleep.

"It's really no use hiding in the kitchen, my dear. And you really do turn the most wonderful colors."

" _Mycroft_! Will you _please_ control yourself?!"

"Why, Sherlock? Disappointed I'm not giving you all the attention? Perhaps you're looking for a kiss and grope from your big brother?"

"Oh, God, Mycroft. Can you be any more obvious and disgusting?"

"Besides, brother dear, I'd be a _much_ better lover than you. _I_ know what women enjoy."

"I'm not completely ignorant, brother mine. I _do_ know how to make love."

"Care to demonstrate with your lovely lodger then?"

"And I suppose you think you'll get to watch me, then?"

"Oh no, no, _no_. I plan to _participate_."

There's an almighty crash as your mug slips from your fingers and smashes against the floor. Both men are at the door in seconds, Sherlock darting into the room to check your hands and bare feet, making sure you aren't cut or hurt, but Mycroft just stands there, capturing your gaze and... _dear God_ , if he isn't thinking of the filthiest things he can do to you right now. you blush and give a small whimper, Sherlock's attention suddenly fully focused on your face. He growls and whirls around, trying to shield you from his big brother.

"Now, now, I do believe she wants it, Sherlock. Surely you can hear her pulse right now, what with you standing so close."

"You are a right, utter ponce."

"Oooo, rising to the bait? I thought you were above that, brother dear. Has he told you how much he loves when I touch him, then?"

"GET OUT!"

The British Government simply stands there and smirks broadly, his grin widening when he hears the shower upstairs shut off. "Or perhaps you won't mind if I have my way with John instead-"

The next thing you know, Sherlock is kissing you. He's holding your face tightly and, to you, seems to be trying to eat your mouth. You hear Mycroft huff with impatience.

"Out of the way, brother dear," he growls, pulling Sherlock off you and pushing him to the side. " _This_ is how you kiss a woman." He backs you against the fridge, that impossibly irritating smirk on his face before he bends and kisses you, one hand cupping the back of your head. He's clearly done this loads of times before, expertly parting your lips and deepening the kiss; you're scrabbling for purchase on his suit in no time.

Sherlock is standing there growling for several moments before he snaps, dragging Mycroft off you and pulling you into his bedroom. His older brother follows, leaving the door open and hooking his umbrella on the handle of it. The consulting detective is already better at kissing when he tries again, using more finesse and less brute force this time. Mycroft's mouth soon joins in the fun, kissing and sucking your neck and shoulders as he tugs John's shirt off... _John_.

Your eyes snap open to see the doctor, hair still damp from the shower, standing in the doorway. "What in blazes-Sherlock? _Mycroft_?!"

The British Government looks up and smirks. "Well, well, hello Doctor Watson. I'm afraid there's only room for three, but you're welcome to watch." He gestures to the chair in the corner of the room.

John looks very conflicted, but when a nip and then a bite and suck on your neck from Sherlock has you moaning loudly, he darts over and takes a seat, his trousers already looking tighter than normal. You hear Sherlock's brother chuckle into your hair as he kisses it. "Now then, to bed."

Between the two of them fighting and bickering, it takes longer to strip than it normally does, but they finally do get you naked. Then you get to watch as they try and see who can strip fastest. Sherlock winning by seconds (the fact that he doesn't have a waistcoat helps considerably). He retrieves the necessary protection from his side table and hands a condom packet to Mycroft. The detective is already half hard from the kisses while Mycroft is fully so, his cock jutting proudly upwards from a small patch of ginger hair.

Sherlock kisses you again, your hand trailing down to stroke him and help get him the rest of the way; sure enough, he's hard in record time and applying the condom. "So... I shall go first-"

"Oh no, brother dear. We do this together... like we do _so_ many other things."

The detective nearly snarls. "If you're going to be perverted, you can leave, _brother dear_."

The ginger haired man just smirks. "Ever so touchy. Is he always like this?"

Both you and John answer, "Yes." Sherlock glowers even more. He flops down on his back, pulling you over with him and scooting up so that his head is on the pillows.

"Fine, but don't expect me to make this easy." Without further ado, he eases his way into your sex, groaning as he stretches you. You gasp, whimpering when he seats himself fully inside your body, rocking gently to ease some of the tension in your muscles. "Bloody hell, you're _tight_."

"Save some for me, little brother," Mycroft says, pulling something else from the side table, and you hear him pop the cap on a bottle of lube. Seconds later, cold, wet fingers and pressing against your hole, stroking and teasing until one of them slips inside, gently pumping in and out. Mycroft presses kisses all up and down your back, scissoring two fingers now to work you open enough for him. Every little twist has you grinding against Sherlock, pushing him deeper into your body. A groan from the side causes you to glance at John who has his cock pulled through the slit in his pants (wait... are those _red?_ ) and is stroking it, getting off to the scene in front of him.

Your attention is yanked back when Sherlock takes your mouth at the same time that Mycroft withdraws his fingers and presses something much larger and thicker at your loosened entrance. He takes his time, making sure you don't tear, easing his way completely in and then stilling. You can feel him trembling slightly from the effort of holding still, and you can also feel both of them, where they are inside, just how big they both are, how much you need them to move before you start screaming in frustration.

Sensing your mood, Mycroft begins to slowly pump his hips, him and Sherlock taking a few minutes to find the right rhythm, but once they have it... the combination of everything is overwhelming. Both men are holding you tight, rocking and rolling and thrusting their hips to fill and then take away, speeding up to pound into you and nearly have you screaming only to slow down again, teasing you endlessly.

Surprisingly, John comes first, stifling a groan, and that sets off the Holmes brothers, increasing their pace until you can barely breathe, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. Sherlock sucks on your neck and Mycroft nips along your sweat-damp back, tasting the salt on your skin, and then you break, crying and pleading and gasping as you come. The Elder Holmes is next, unable to keep the pace when you contract sharply around him, and he's followed by Sherlock who grabs your hips and digs his fingers in, snapping up three more times before shooting his load and sinking back against the sheets.

Mycroft ever so slowly pulls out, taking care of the condom before returning with a damp flannel for you and for John, cleaning you tenderly while the good doctor wipes off his hand and tucks himself back in his pants. Sherlock helps lay you down on the bed before taking care of himself, smacking away Mycroft's attempts to clean him up. The two brothers sit on the bed and look at you where you lie, nearly asleep again.

"So, I think we can say I'm better of the two of us-"

"Oh, shut it you great ponce. I lasted longer and got to her first. Keep your hands to yourself."

"But where's the fun in that?"


	95. A Speechless Detective- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's not the thumping you think it is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mormoriarty: reader walking in on Sherlock or John wanking

 

You're curled up in your usual spot of John's armchair with your book when you hear another thump coming from Sherlock's room, this one accompanied by a muffled curse. Muttering under your breath about irresponsible consulting detectives and their stupid experiments, you haul yourself up and stump over to his room, barging in since the last time something like this happened, he had several pigeons trapped in there.

Of course, you aren't so lucky because Sherlock is leaning against the wall and thumping his head against it, fully clothed and wanking so fast his hand is a blur.

Your jaw drops, and you try to gracefully sneak out, but again, would that you could.

"Are you going to simply stand there, or are you going to lend a hand?"

You spin around, staring at the man. His silver-blue gaze meets yours, pupils wide and dark from arousal. You bite your lip, assessing the situation.

"I'll do you one better."

Crossing to him in a few strides, you sink to the ground and smack his hand out of the way. "Moron. You won't get anywhere like that." Grasping his base, you stroke him slowly, twisting as you go; once he is sufficiently speechless, you suck him into your mouth, his length hot, hard, and heavy on your tongue. You are thrilled you decide to watch his face, almost laughing as his eyes snap open and he stares down at you in surprise. You give him a cocky look and suck. _Hard_.

His lush, cupid's bow mouth makes an 'O' when he groans, his hands finding their way to your hair while you bob back and forth, licking and sucking. Sherlock is already close when you start, so it doesn't take much more on your end (you do decide to play with his sac and _that_ was a good idea) before he gasps and comes, his head hitting the wall once more while he fills your mouth with his release. Swallowing what you can and wiping the corners of your mouth, you let him slip from between your lips, jaw aching slightly.

Sherlock takes a moment for his brain to come back online before he is crouching in front of you, stealing a deep kiss, tasting himself in your mouth. When he pulls back, he drops his lips to your ear.

" _My turn_."


	96. Seaside Rendezvous- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the best vacation ever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MofBaskerville: Lestrade isn't wearing his wedding ring in Baskerville. A scene with him on holiday fucking a sexy fellow tourist out on the beach.
> 
> We tweaked it slightly in terms of setup... but I think you'll like the outcome all the same. I see this more as the vacation /before/ Baskerville... but that could just be me.

"This is _gorgeous_!" you say in awe as you look around your hotel room before you head down to the water. Your boyfriend, Greg Lestrade, has taken a _much_ needed vacation from his job as a DI at the Met and has taken you along with him to New Zealand. The weather is beautiful, the room is luxurious, and the beach is literally two yards away from where you're staying. But, you have to say, the best part of it is seeing Greg not only relaxed, but in a pair of swim trunks that suit him _quite_ well.

"I'm going for a swim, love," he calls. You nod and wave as he jogs towards the water and dives in. You are quite content to sit on your towel under the umbrella and read your book; you don't want to go in quite yet. You lose track of time and have shifted to soak up some sun when a shadow blocks out your light. It's Greg, his suit wet and clinging to him. He grins down at you. You look back up at him.

"Come join me, sweetheart," he pleads.

"Not just yet... I've gotten to the good part!" you say, going back to the book.

"I'll bring the water to you," he threatens.

"You wouldn't..." you warn, but he ignores you. Laughing, he scoops you up. You shriek and drop your book on the towel as he carries you to the water and unceremoniously drops you in.

"Gregory Lestrade, you are an _arse_!" you yell at him as he doubles over in glee, but you can't stay mad at him for long, and you join in, laughing as you drag him out into deeper water. After your laughter dies, you drape your arms around him, floating at his side. He's standing, you're drifting; you're not quite tall enough to reach the bottom here.

"You're like a sea nymph, floating around me like that," he comments. You smile and press a lingering kiss to his neck, causing him to start slightly before he groans. "I take it back; you're a siren, luring unwary sailors to their almost certain doom." This makes you chuckle.

"Well now... that would make you the sailor in my clutches," you murmur into his ear. He starts to smile. "How do you intend on freeing yourself?" He responds by dragging you around to face him, then kissing you half-senseless. When he finally stops, your legs are wrapped around his waist underwater to keep from floating away, and you can feel the bulge of his arousal underneath it. You feel your sex heat as he looks at you, his eyes dark with want. Biting your lip, you glance back to the shoreline; you're far enough out to have some privacy, but near enough to shore to be safe. Feeling _very_ naughty, you whisper in his ear:

"Fuck me, Greg. Right here... right now."

He groans, the sound low in his throat. "Shit, sweetheart... the things you do to me," he says, the words hoarse in your ear. He's soon pushing aside the bottom of your bathing suit as you tug down his. Unerringly, he finds his way into you and, using the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore, he begins to thrust. You pull as he pushes, the yin to his yang, the movements almost lazy as you wind each other up. The water embraces you both as you make love, the thrill of doing something so forbidden out in public adding to the moment. It isn't very long at all before you both come, him grunting softly as he spills into you, you moaning his name, just loud enough for him to hear. You take your time to readjust yourselves, sharing soft kisses before you head out of the water to collect your things and dry off. You hold hands all the way back to the hotel room. You ask him to join you in the shower to help you wash all the salt off; after all, you know there are some places you're sure to miss that he could help you with.


	97. Unexpected Ride- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll certainly be willing to take more cabs in London from now on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mamasaidknockmeout: hot and sexy: Mycroft commandeers a cab that the reader is in because there's a "situation" in Syria and he needs to get to his office. He and the reader end up sharing more than the cab fare!

You're enjoying a leisurely cab ride through Trafalgar Square when suddenly, the door opens and a tall, dishy ginger with a scowl that could freeze seawater pushes you over.

"Oi!" you exclaim, and he turns that scowl to you, shutting you up quickly.

"To the Old Bailey, and quickly," he snaps to the cabdriver. When the driver changes direction, he relaxes somewhat. "My apologies to commandeer your cab like this...urgent government business," he says. You glower at him.

"Well that's nice. All I get is your apologies when you take _my_ cab with _me_ in it in the _opposite_ direction of where I need to go!" you quip at him. He raises an eyebrow.

"I _did_ apologize," he states. You glare.

"All talk," you snap, settling into a deep sulk. He sighs. He must be feeling bad because he sighs.

"I'll be certain to make it up to you," he says. You pout and glower. Bastard. Gorgeous ginger bastard. Even in your black mood, you can't help but give him another once-over. He's tall and lanky, and good _God_ that suit. You've always had a weakness for men in suits. Apparently, he catches you looking because one side of his mouth rises into a smirk. "And I think I know how..." he adds. He moves closer to you and, before you can tell him to mind his space, he's kissing you both breathless and senseless, one hand wound into your hair, the other around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

When he breaks the kiss, you've gone nearly cross-eyed, and your knickers are starting to get damp. You haven't been touched like this in... well, longer than you'd care to remember, and if the bulge in his trousers is any indication, neither has he. You smirk.

"Yes, I certainly do think you could repay me with that," you say, blatantly staring, then looking him in the eyes. If he's shocked, he doesn't show it. He opens his trousers and you put your head in his lap, flicking your tongue out and brushing it against the tip of his cock where it rises from his open zip. He hisses as you mouth the head, swirling your tongue around it, before taking it as deep as you can, one hand circling the base, the other fondling his sac. He groans as you suckle, his hips thrusting into your mouth as his hands guide your head into a quicker rhythm. Using a technique you learned in Uni, you have him spilling himself down your throat in record time, groaning low in his chest. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and zip him up again. He looks flushed and breathless and somewhat in awe of you, making you squirm as your own arousal roils and throbs. He catches your movements and slides his hand between your legs, rubbing at you through the cloth of your knickers under your skirt. He hikes it up and slips his fingers underneath them, finding his way into you with unerring ease. One finger, then two, with his thumb circling your clit. He pumps his digits roughly and, as keyed up as you are, makes you come in no time flat, biting the heel of your hand to muffle your cry of release. He pops his fingers into his mouth to clean them of your juices, making you squirm even more as he slides them out with a slightly obscene popping noise.

The cab pulls up in front of the Old Bailey, and the man gets out.

"Thank you for graciously letting me... share," he says. "The name is Mycroft Holmes... and here's my mobile number, should you want to go for another ride." He drops a wink as he pays the driver generously (probably for his silence) and gets out, leaving you breathless and slightly sweaty in the back seat. Oh, you will definitely be calling him. Go for a ride _indeed_.


	98. Armful of Consulting Criminal- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling for no apparent reason? That's not like Jim...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After cuddle!Seb, ladycorvidae needed some cuddle!Jim. Here you go.

It's been a long day; you're relaxing in bed, the covers pulled up as you read, when suddenly the door to your room bangs open and Jim stomps in, his face like thunder. You watch as he toes off his shoes and changes into his pajamas, then literally flops on the bed next to you. You set your book down.

"Rough day?" you ask as you turn toward him. He mumbles something into the duvet before rolling over to his side and curling up next to you. You think you catch the words 'fucking morons' as he does so. You start when he winds his arms around your waist, tugging you to him. You raise an eyebrow. Jim almost _never_ cuddles. He only does so when he wants something of you or if he's sick, but you're not complaining as he burrows into your warmth, his head pillowed on your chest.

Your arms go around him as well, taking in his scent as you wrap yourself around him. He hums in pleasure, holding you tighter. Then he makes you shriek as he licks a hot, wet stripe from your cleavage to the hollow of your throat.

"J-Jim," you gasp as he sucks a dark love-bite to your pulse-point. He straddles you and works your pajama bottoms down as he continues to kiss you, his tongue flicking and dancing with yours. You can feel his arousal, hard and hot underneath the thin cloth of his sleep pants. Ripping his pants off, he parts your legs and drives himself home with a grunt, fingers winding in your hair as you arch and buck against him. He pounds into you, rocking into your tight wetness, the heat of him nearly unbearable as he mouths along your jaw and the shell of your ear. He moves a hand between you and starts rubbing your clit, and that makes you cry out and contract around him, pulling you to climax with his name on your lips. He groans deep in his chest as he spills himself into you, his seed hot and thick. He rolls off of you and, in another surprising twist, helps clean you up (probably so the sheets won't stain, but it's nice to think he really cares). Then he curls back up against you, his head pillowed on your breast. After a moment, you figure out what he's doing; he's listening to your heart. You smile as it slows from the rush of pleasure, moving your fingers through his dark, fine hair.

"Beats for you, my love," you murmur into his ear. Half-asleep, Jim smiles. And that's enough for you.


	99. Better than Breakfast- Greg and Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This can totally work...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eagerly awaited sequel to Mystrade sharing. I'll be the first to admit that I begged for this.

You wake up the next morning, feeling very pleasantly warm, and very, _very_ sore. Why the hell...? Then you come in contact with skin: not one, but two men. Oh. _Oh_. Everything comes rushing back to you, and your face burns. Two men, you had two men at the same time. _That's_ why you're so sore. One of them stirs, woken up by your movement- the ginger one, Mycroft. He smiles lazily.

"Good morning, dear," he says, before pressing a long, slow kiss to your mouth. You can't help but arch into him as he pulls you flush to his body, his naked flesh warm against yours, his morning erection poking into the soft skin of your belly. You smile into it as you feel him twitch against you. When he breaks the kiss, his keen blue eyes are searching yours. He ruts gently into you and you nod, the arousal winding tight in you already. He grins and maneuvers you, gently spreading your legs. He's just about to drive himself into you when Greg, the silver-haired man with the velvet voice, wakes up. He rolls over, frowning as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

"Cheeky bastard, you were about to get some without me," he mumbles, his gorgeous voice rough with sleep. Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

"Not my fault you enjoy a lie-in," he quips. Greg rolls his eyes before turning them to you, a smile quirking his mouth.

"Good morning, love," he murmurs, and you shiver. He flicks a glance to where Mycroft is pressed against you, his lover's cock flush with your wet folds. "And although this is a sight to behold... I feel rather left out. Myc, get her on her hands and knees," he instructs.

You hasten to follow his directions; Mycroft is poised to take you from behind. Greg maneuvers in front of you, his arousal bobbing in your face. As Mycroft slowly slides into you, you take the tip of Greg's cock into your mouth, running your tongue over it, suckling gently. He groans and his fingers wind in your hair as you start a rhythm that mirrors the one that Mycroft has set, slowly sliding in and out of your tight heat, his fingers sinking into the skin of your hips. As Mycroft bottoms out, you swallow Greg all the way to the hilt, the tip of him tickling the back of your throat. You swallow, contracting the muscles around him, and clench your inner muscles around Myc. Both of the men make noises of pleasure at your ministrations, and speed up. Clearly, the sight of them taking you at the same time, their eyes locked on each other, is enough to drive them wild. Myc comes first, spilling himself inside you with a deep groan as he bucks his hips roughly. You're next, Mycroft's end setting off your own, causing you to moan around Greg's cock. That sets him off, shooting his seed down your throat. You swallow what he gives you and withdraw slowly, cleaning him off as you go. Mycroft slides out of you with a long sigh before he gets a damp flannel and cleans you up. Greg settles down on the bed and pulls you to him, his warmth comforting. Mycroft rolls his eyes but joins you, draping one of his long legs over you and Greg, caging you in the middle. You smile softly as you settle in between them, basking in the afterglow.

"Well... that certainly beats an awkward breakfast," you say. The sound of their laughter warms your heart as you join in their mirth. The perfect morning after to a perfect night before.


	100. Your Military Boyfriend- Sherlock and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so not all of Sherlock's experiments are bad ideas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: Military John is my favourite John!... except for maybe domestic John, a combination of the two might be interesting, John coming home to Sherlock and reader having made a mess and dot dot dot ;)
> 
> Requested by mormoriarty: something with redpants!John
> 
> Requested by mormoriarty: something with beepants!Sherlock

It really seems like a great idea at the time. Sherlock needs an extra set of hands for an experiment, and you are simply thrilled not to have another dull, drab day moping about the flat until your boyfriend returns home from the clinic. It's an extremely messy proposition: body parts and rotting food all over the kitchen table, small explosions from certain chemicals, and at one point, a fair amount of absolutely foul smelling green smoke that takes ages to clear from the flat. Every available surface is covered in newsprint to protect it from your antics... that is, of course, until John trudges up the stairs.

He's clearly had a very long day at the clinic, so when he looks around and sees the frightfully appalling state of the flat. You can see the frustration crease his brow for a moment before something resembling resignation takes its place. "Do I dare ask what you two have been up to?"

You open your mouth to speak, but, right on cue, Sherlock cuts you off. "A very keen and pivotal experiment dealing with decomposition of food and-"

"Shut it, Sherlock."

"But John-"

"No buts! Now, both of you clean this up." When neither of you move, John shifts, his back straightening, his gaze hardening, and his stance is far more military than you've seen in ages... _fuck_ this is not the time to get turned on! " _Now_ ," he barks.

You scramble to obey, dumping newsprint into the recycling, as much of the rotten and decomposing material as possible in the bins, and are halfway through placing Petri dishes in the sink, you realize that Sherlock hasn't moved, and John doesn't look angry. It takes you a second to realize that he looks controlled... oh fuckandbugger, you so desperately want him to pull rank on you.

"Sherlock, I said clean up your mess."

"No."

"Do I have to treat you like a petulant child?"

"It's my flat, I can do what I like."

John snaps to attention, his eyes blazing with power. "Well then, I'll simply have to punish you, won't I? For disobeying a direct order from your _Captain_."

And that's you gone, groaning as your knees nearly give out. John's head snaps to you, his gaze darkening. "Bedroom. Both of you. That's an order."

This time, both of you move, darting into Sherlock's room (since it is closest) and waiting for John to follow. He marches in, grabbing you and starting to strip you, his teeth and tongue brushing your neck. You fumble to help him get undressed, Sherlock adding his hands into the mix and generally making it difficult. You finally get down to everyone's underwear, and after a few moments of blatant staring, you promptly fall over with laughter. John's pants are bright red with white trim, and Sherlock's have a large yellow-and-black bee on the front, the little insect growing larger as his bulge grows. Of course, your mirth only lasts until you realize just how much the red pants suit John, highlighting his muscles and solid stature. You swallow hard and see him taking back the control.

"You, on the bed, hands and knees. As for _you_ -" he growls, turning to Sherlock, "-you sit in _this_ chair-" he shoves the detective into it, "-and watch. And no touching yourself. I just might reward you if you manage that."

The consulting detective whimpers, hands clenching on the arm rests of the chair as John stalks over to the side table, fishing out a condom and rolling it on before joining you on the bed.

"Get ready there, luv. Your Captain is in charge tonight," the blonde growls, seizing your hips and driving in, going hard and rough and fast from the get go. He fucks you like an animal, pounding you with trained, military precision, your moans only just louder than Sherlock's. He's desperately sitting on his hands now, the bulge more prominent than ever and making the bee on his pants quiver.

A few more deep thrusts and a brush of fingers along your clit have you coming, screaming "CAPTAIN!" at the top of your voice. John snarls, snapping his hips twice more before finishing, spilling into the condom and slowing to a stop. He pulls out and lays you down, giving you a gentle kiss before cleaning up the condom and turning to Sherlock.

"I suppose you've earned a reward."

He kneels before his flatmate and pulls him out of the slit in the front of his pants, stroking his arousal a few times before swallowing it down, sucking hard and bobbing fast in Sherlock's lap.

You groan, your sex aching while you watch John suck off the detective, Sherlock's head thrown back in ecstasy and overstimulation. It only takes John tugging on the taller man's sac at the same time as a hard suck before the man finishes, groaning with one arm flung across his eyes. Your boyfriend's eyes are shining as he licks Sherlock clean and stands, moving back to you where you are on the bed.

"Now... let's see about some takeaway, yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 FREAKING CHAPTERS!!!!!!!! I figured this one should have a prompt combo since it's a big honking number. I CAN'T MOTHER FLUFFING BELIEVE IT!!!!


	101. A Solution- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This deal certainly works in your favor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Areyoubeingshagged: Mycroft being captured by a rogue government and having to fuck his way out of trouble

"Let me out."

"Are you going to keep asking all night? The answer hasn't changed. _No_."

"You could be rewarded quite well if you give me your assistance-"

"Bribes? What are you, twelve?"

"I _can_ offer you more than just money."

"Oh really?" You don't believe him for a second. Mycroft Holmes is probably the single most dangerous man your country has ever captured, and while you've heard of his apparently immeasurable power, you highly doubt there is anything he could offer you that would even make you slightly consider switching sides, but there is one thing on your mind... one he just might be able to help with.

You hear him sigh and slump against the wall in his room, your grip on your semi-automatic shifting. Thinking about the last thing he said, you slide open the little window in the door.

"More than money, huh?"

He glances over, his ginger hair mussed and suit slightly disheveled. "Anything."

"Shag me senseless, and I'll let you go and doctor the footage."

He raises one red eyebrow, his pale face transforming into a smirk. "Reeeeally," he drawls, walking towards the door, staring brazenly out at you.

"Yeah, really. I'm coming in now."

"Oh darling, I'll be the one 'coming in.'"

Fighting the flush rising to your cheeks, you unlock the door, checking the corridor before slipping in, shutting and locking it again behind you.

As soon as the bolt hits home, Mycroft roughly grabs you, spinning you around and shoving you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a frantic, powerful kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard when he grinds against your center."F-forward much?" you gasp when he releases your mouth, nipping and biting at your neck, his hands working your jeans and knickers off before pulling your legs up around his waist.

"No, just interested in hearing you scream while I fuck you like the little slut you are."

 _Ohgod_. No one _ever_ talks like that to you, no matter how much you beg.

"You like that? You like hearing what I plan to do? Hearing how I'll use you as my fucktoy until I cum? Make you scream so loud they'll think someone has been tortured to death? Can you feel me?" he growls, grinding harder against your bare sex, pulling soft moans and whimpers from you. You reach down to fumble with his trousers, but in seconds he has your hands pinned to the wall.

" _No_. You only get to _watch_."

You force your eyes open to watch as he undoes his zip and pulls his length out of the slit in his pants. He produces a condom from a hidden pocket in his waistcoat and rolls it on, holding you firmly in place while he sheaths himself in you, a single, firm thrust doing the trick. You gasp, throwing your head back and smacking it against the wall. Groaning, you let your head fall onto his shoulder as he starts rolling his hips, his arousal lovely and thick and hot, rubbing in places that haven't seen any action in so long that you were afraid you had cobwebs down there.

"Such a wanton-little slut," he purrs in your ear, biting and tugging on the lobe _hard_ as he speeds up, driving you against the wall. "Like that? Like me-inside you? Do you-really want it?"

"Yes... oh yes... _please_."

"Then hold on." He snaps his hips, driving even deeper in before well and truly fucking you, his hands on your shoulders driving you down with every thrust up. He's growling hungrily in your ear, grinding and rubbing against your clit until you come suddenly, shrieking his name to make the room echo. Roughly fucking you through your orgasm, he comes a few moments later, shuddering and groaning as he empties himself into the condom.

Mycroft sets you down almost gently while the both of you clean yourselves up, straightening clothes and flattening mussed and tangled hair. Unlocking the door, you check the hall again. "Kay. Wait thirty seconds and then run."

His lips are at your ear again. "Thank you."

Smirking, you disappear into the building. "No problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the sudden influx of posting everything we've written thus far is because I'm off to Edinburgh this weekend and most likely won't be able to update this again until Monday or Tuesday at the earliest.


	102. Magpie and Tiger- Jim and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after you've played with them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie about how much I begged for this

Seb quickly fastens the collar in place and Jim strips you of your black domme clothing. The riding crop is flung off to the side somewhere (you find it about two weeks later, under the bookshelf) and promptly forgotten. Now bare before them, you feel quite vulnerable and at their mercy. Jim is smirking and Seb is grinning; both expressions are unsettling and arousing. Even after just getting you off with their skilled mouths, you still want them both, and, as it is quickly turning out, they want _you_ as well. With a steely look from Jim, you kneel on the carpet, trembling slightly. This causes the criminal to chuckle.

"Aww, look, Tiger. Little Kitten is _scared_ of the... what was it she called us? The Pussycat and the Little Bird?" he says, his eyes never leaving you. Seb leers.

"Hmm, seems she is. What shall we do to remedy that, Boss?" he asks. Jim tilts his head, thinking.

"Well, since you were on the receiving end of her attentions first... I think you should be the first one to put her at ease, don't you think?" he says. Seb's leer widens.

"That, Boss, is an _excellent_ idea," he rumbles. He walks toward you, all steely muscle and feral grace, cupping your chin in his hand, much like you had done with him. His fingers rest on the pulse point in your neck, feeling it pounding under your skin. He trails his hand up to move his fingers through your hair, long soothing gestures. You can't help but lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands move across your scalp. All of a sudden, though, the touch is taken away, leaving you suddenly wobbly as you try to make up for the other hand that was supporting you. Jim snickers as you nearly fall flat on your face, and you shoot him a glare.

"Now now, Kitten, don't be like that. We'll take _good_ care of you, I promise," he says, the innuendo in his voice making you squirm. He crosses to you, gently shoving Seb out of the way, fisting a hand in your hair and pulling your head back to claim your mouth in a rough kiss, full of tongue and teeth. You go to wind your arms around his neck, but he smacks your hands away. "No, no, no, no... _no_ touching," he hisses in your ear. You whimper, wanting the contact, but he seems intent on denying you... the bastard. Jim moves his mouth along your jaw, then down your neck before he drags you up to stand.

"Take her to the bedroom, Sebby. I'm bored of this room," he drawls. You hide your smile; that's so typical of Jim, needing a change of scenery, then you shriek as Seb scoops you up and hauls you off, tossing you to the bed. He glances at Jim, a question in his eyes; the consulting criminal rolls his eyes. "Fine. Have at," he says, lazily waving a hand before he sprawls out in a chair.

Seb is over top of you, caging your body with his, in the space of a heartbeat. He nips and sucks his way down across your collarbones, causing you to arch into his touch, his cock nudging against your folds. Your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure, but you crack them open to look at Jim. He's watching Seb work on you, his gaze intent, one hand stroking his cock in long, smooth movements. The sight and thought of him getting off on watching you get fucked... oh God, that's just not fair. Seb gently works the tip of his arousal into you before driving himself to the hilt, causing you to gasp as he bottoms out. He groans, then starts to move in quick, short thrusts. The force of the staccato movements cause the bedsprings to sing and the headboard to start smacking against the wall. You move your legs up around Seb's hips, linking your ankles across the small of his back. The large, blonde sniper growls as you tighten around him, making him go harder and faster. You can tell he's not going to last much longer. Suddenly, the mattress dips beside you and you turn your head to see Jim, his brown eyes blazing.

"Put that dirty mouth of yours to work, Kitten," he orders hoarsely. You part your lips and swallow him down, being careful of your teeth as you move in time with Seb. You find your rhythm quickly, moving down on Jim when Seb thrusts, sliding off of him as he pulls out. In no time at all, Jim is snarling and spilling himself down your throat, one hand wound into your hair, pulling your scalp deliciously. The feeling of the ache of pain combined with the ecstasy of Seb filling you is too much; you shatter and pulse and flutter, which tips him over, coming with a groan so deep that you _feel_ it rather than _hear_ it. They slowly pull out of you, Seb kissing you and tasting the mixture of you and Jim, the smaller man fetching a wet flannel to clean you up (so as not to stain the sheets as Seb's seed leaks out of you). As you all come down from your peak, you trembling slightly, Jim grins.

"Sometimes I need a reminder of just how _good_ it is to be the king," he says, his Irish brogue cocky and proud. You bow your head slightly, a smile quirking your mouth upwards.

"Of course, Your Majesty," you reply. After all... a Kitten has to know her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!!!! Thank you so much for your patience in your short hiatus. We should be updating this more soon. We got sidetracked with finishing our 'Watch the World Burn' series


	103. A Study in Oral, Part 1- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not your ordinary experiment in the slightest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LadyElayne: Okie dokie, mine is sort of three fold... I want to see Lestrade and Sherlock in a friendly competition over which is better at cunnilingus. Sherlock from a scientific perspective, beef from a...well not as fuck perspective. Not at the same time however. Here's the three fold part, once for Sherlock once for Greg and then one where it's both, sort of a notes comparison situation. HAVE FUN!

You're lounging on the couch of 221 B, reading a book when you shift slightly. It feels like you're being watched. You turn and there's Sherlock, in his usual 'between cases' attire of a ratty blue dressing gown, t-shirt and thin pyjama bottoms, staring at you like you're a specimen under one of those microscopes he seems permanently affixed to. You raise an eyebrow. "Do you need something in particular?" you ask him.

"Yes, actually," he says. That surprises you. He _never_ needs anything from you, other than you to 'stop thinking' or 'stop breathing' or 'face the wall, your shirt is distracting me'.

"Well then? I'm not going to answer your question or fulfill that need until you _ask_ me what you need to _ask_ me," you say.

"I need to perform oral sex on you," he says, his voice completely deadpan. You blink. Then you pinch yourself.

" _Excuse me_?" you say, hardly believing what you just heard. He rolls his eyes.

"I hate repeating myself," he grumbles. "I _said_ that I need to perform oral sex on you. It's for an experiment," he states. You just sit there and stare at him, feeling slightly like this is a bad, _bad_ joke at your expense.

"I... ah... um... all right?" you finally manage to squeak out. He grins, his eyes lighting up.

" _Excellent_. Now, bottoms off," he orders. You splutter.

"SHERLOCK!! We are in the _sitting room_. I am not going to have you _eat me out_ in the bloody sitting room, when anyone can walk in!" you gasp. He huffs a sigh.

"Fine. Bedroom, at once," he states. He pulls you to a standing position, book abandoned, and steers you into his room. He shuts the door, his grin still in place, his eyes shining. You swallow and shift slightly; damn if that stupid ratty get-up doesn't suit him, like everything else does, and you're positive that you'll never get this chance again. You sit on the edge of the bed as he locks the door, the sound of it clicking home very final in your ears. He turns to you again.

"Now... we shall begin," he states, walking to the bed.

He starts by tugging off your shoes and throwing them over his shoulder; you hear them thunk against the wall. Then he attacks the button and zip of your jeans, sliding them and your knickers off in one motion. You clamp your legs together, feeling very self-conscious. He frowns.

"What?" he asks, sounding annoyed. You glare at him.

"What do you mean, _what_? You're going about this entirely wrong," you tell him. He narrows his eyes. If there's one thing Sherlock Holmes hates (other than Anderson, people's stupidity, and a lack of cases), it's being told that he's wrong.

"Then enlighten me," he demands, folding his arms and sitting back on his heels on the bed. You fight the smile that wants to spread over your face. He looks like a child that just got told he wasn't able to go play in the sandbox.

"For one thing, use a gentler approach," you say. "You wouldn't like it if I just grabbed at you, would you?" You prove your point by sitting up and grasping his thighs. He jumps, looking startled. "Women are more sensitive, especially here," you say, tracing your fingers around his manhood. He swallows hard and nods, taking your advice. "Now... try _again_." You lean back after you shed your shirt and bra, spread out naked on his bed.

Following your example, he's much more delicate. He spreads your legs and looks at your sex with an undisguised fascination. You squirm, feeling yourself heat and grow wet under the scrutiny of those bright blue eyes. He catches the movement and trails one hand with those long fingers up your inner thigh to brush at the curls that surround your womanhood, making your breath stutter. He smirks; he's figured something out. He begins to draw delicate patterns on the soft skin there before his forefinger goes to trace at your labia, making you arch upwards into his touch. His lips begin to follow the path of his hand, and you whimper. His mouth is hot on your skin, and he hasn't even gotten to your center yet.

He darts out his tongue and licks a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit, causing you to gasp, fisting your hands into the sheets. Taking your cue, he begins to repeat the motion, drawing forth cries and moans as he figures you out and takes you apart. Now darting, now suckling, he employs his fingers as well, sliding one long digit gently inside you. He groans as he feels your inner muscles envelop it, then he starts to curl and twist it, aiding the motions of his clever tongue and lips. You abandon the sheets and your hands grasp his dark curls, tugging them as he works on making you come undone. He adds another finger inside you and focuses his tongue solely on your clit.

You feel him shift his weight on the bed and you open your eyes a crack; he has quite the tent in his trousers, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide this fact. The sight of him so turned on by what he's doing to _you_ drives you wild. Then he does something, traces some obscure shape with his tongue and you're _gone_. You pull his hair, arching and writhing, screaming his name as you contract and flutter around his fingers. He hisses and moves his free hand to press against his obvious erection. You pant and tremble as he moves away, drawing his fingers from you, his face wet from chin to nose with your juices. He wipes them off, then cleans his fingers with his mouth. You nearly come again just from watching that.

"Well... I certainly got the results I was expecting," he says, his voice raspy. "And... you taste _divine_ ," he states with a cheeky wink. You swallow hard. Then you get an idea. You grin as you sit up and press him down to the bed.

"My turn to experiment now," you say with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly caught up. Thank you for your patience. More to come. ;)


	104. A Study in Oral, Part 2- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If your nights end up like this, you'll stand up for DI Lestrade more often...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LadyElayne: Okie dokie, mine is sort of three fold... I want to see Lestrade and Sherlock in a friendly competition over which is better at cunnilingus. Sherlock from a scientific perspective, beef from a...well not as fuck perspective. Not at the same time however. Here's the three fold part, once for Sherlock once for Greg and then one where it's both, sort of a notes comparison situation. HAVE FUN!

About a week after the 'Sherlock Oral Experiment' (you've no idea what else to call it), Greg Lestrade is at the flat after a case, trying to collect Sherlock's statement for a case; the detective is being as ornery as ever, insulting the DI with every other word and prattling on about the incompetence of the police force in London. John isn't interjecting, but he does make tea for the four of you; the beverage isn't even enough to get Sherlock to shut his mouth. Finally, you can't stand it anymore.

"Sherlock, Greg asks for your _help_ because he needs it. He is a perfectly competent officer, and if you can't see that, then you don't deserve all of the privileges he gives you. He doesn't _have_ to let you in on crime scenes. He can ban you, you know."

"He'd never do that. I'm a necessary component of his ability to apprehend criminals even if I'm the one doing all the work and he doesn't even bring anyone in-"

"ENOUGH!" You slam your mug to the coffee table, shaking with anger. Grabbing the DI's hand, you tug him from the flat. "You can get his statement later. The paperwork will wait a night."

You don't miss the stunned, uncomprehending expression on Sherlock's face as you slam the door behind you.

oOoOo

"You didn't have to do that. I deal with him all the time, it's fine-"

"He tramps all over you and doesn't even think about it, of _course_ it isn't fine!"

Greg shook his head and muttered something.

"What? What was that?"

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me-"

"So I can't stick up for a guy I happen to fancy?"

That made the officer stop and turn, looking at you. "You fancy me?"

Blushing and biting your lip, you stare at your shoes. "Hard not to with your silver hair and kind face and fucking _gorgeous_ voice-"

You never finish the rest because he pulls you into an embrace and kisses you hard, cradling you in his arms until you relax against him. He breaks it first but doesn't pull away, close enough that you're practically breathing each other's air. "Come back with me."

"Thought you'd never ask."

oOoOo

Greg doesn't stop grinning even when he's kissing you back at his flat, his lips twitching in a smile as he makes you whimper and groan with only his lips and tongue on yours. You're dizzy from lack of air, but you don't care; you just hold on tighter to the DI, running your fingers through his hair while he takes you apart.

He finally manages to pull you through to the bedroom, the pair of you tumbling onto the mattress with you beneath him. Greg chuckles in your ear and kisses his way down your neck, his hands moving ahead to stroke your sides and rub teasingly against the crotch of your jeans; you arch into his fingers, sucking in a sudden gulp of air. " _Please_..."

The DI doesn't need any more of an invitation than that. His strong hands working swiftly, he strips you completely, leaving you bare against the duvet while he remains fully clothed (apart from his shoes). You start to protest and reach for his shirt, but he catches your hands, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "For what I have planned, I only need _you_ bare."

Your eyes close, and you lose yourself in his caresses as he kisses his way down your chest, suckling at your breasts before trailing his tongue to your navel, nipping at your skin occasionally.  When he reaches your sex, he doesn't touch at first, choosing instead to just breathe on your damp skin. His hands grasp your hips when he does finally press a kiss to your clit, mouthing his way along you. His tongue is even more magic down here, teasing and lapping at your juices, but he's holding you firmly enough that you can't move against him; if anything, that just sends another rush of arousal straight through your body.

After a few minutes, Greg removes one hand to stroke along your folds while he tortures your clit with his lips and tongue and teeth, tugging and sucking at the sensitive bud of nerves, pressing your folds apart and barely stroking just along the inside in of your entrance, moaning and humming as he works. You're quickly winding up for release, the older man perfectly balancing you on the edge until, with a twist of his fingers and a hard suck on your clit, you're gone, shrieking and shaking until you collapse, breathing hard and slipping towards sleep.

He wipes off his face and kisses your forehead, tucking you in. "Get some sleep, luv. You can lend me a hand in the morning."

You don't even have the strength to protest, smiling as you slip into your dreams.


	105. A Study in Oral, Part 3- Greg and Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LadyElayne: Okie dokie, mine is sort of three fold... I want to see Lestrade and Sherlock in a friendly competition over which is better at cunnilingus. Sherlock from a scientific perspective, beef from a...well not as fuck perspective. Not at the same time however. Here's the three fold part, once for Sherlock once for Greg and then one where it's both, sort of a notes comparison situation. HAVE FUN!

You snuggle down deeper under the duvet the next morning, on that finely balanced edge between wakefulness and sleep, when you hear the sounds of arguing. _That_ wakes you up all the way.

"Fucking _HELL_ Sherlock! Why are you at my _flat_?" you hear Greg say. You bound up and grab the sheet, taking it with you since you don't want to spend time looking for your clothes. You peek out of the door, where you see Greg facing the detective down; the DI is pissed and Sherlock is... well, Sherlock. He catches sight of you, and his head cocks to the side, and, is it your imagination, but do you see a flash of jealousy go through his eyes?

"I see... so... was he better than I was?" he asks, the question directed at you. Greg turns and sees you, wrapped up in the sheet, hair all mussed from sleep and the marvelous orgasm he gave you last night; your face is a bright red.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," you state. Sherlock snorts.

"Idiotic statement; it wasn't kissing, it was cunnilingus. And you liked it. But did you like his _better_?" he asks. Clearly, he isn't going to let that drop.

"YES. All right? Yes, he was better," you shout. You immediately regret it. Greg looks very smug and Sherlock looks thunderous. Another thing he hates is being less than the best at anything. He narrows his eyes.

"Show me."

" _What_?!" This comes from both you and Greg.

"I said _show me_. I demand that you show me your technique so I can learn from it and thereby perfect it," he says, folding his arms. You start to splutter and protest, but Greg sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Fine. Although don't get your knickers in a twist if she _still_ prefers me," he says with a cocky grin. You stare at him, disbelieving. "It's the only way to get him to shut up; he'll bring it up at the _worst_ possible time if we don't," he mutters to you. With a sigh, you concede.

"All right then... bedroom, boys," you say as you turn around and trudge back to the bed. Greg follows you, and Sherlock follows the DI, looking pleased with himself.

The consulting detective drops himself gracefully in the chair as you sit on the bed, still clad in the sheet. Greg gently pushes you back so you're lying down on your back and unwraps you like you're a gift. His eyes trail over you much the same way, and you squirm a bit, feeling your sex heat and grow wet under his gaze. He begins kissing his way down your body, making your eyes flutter shut as his lips press against your skin. His fingers are stroking the outline of your womanhood before gently slipping inside, first one, then two, curling and twisting. This makes you arch, then keen as his mouth joins his fingers. His other hand spreads your labia to give him better access as his tongue darts and flickers over your clit.

Sherlock is observing quietly, his keen eyes taking in every detail, every movement, every arch and moan and gasp as Greg slowly works you to your peak. You're nearly seconds away from climaxing when suddenly the stimulation is gone.

"Oi! The f-" Greg starts to swear, but Sherlock quells him with a look.

"I have observed all that I need to; I know what to do now," he says as he kneels before you and takes Greg's place. His long fingers stroke and tug at your sex and his mouth is everywhere, lapping and sucking as he slowly slides two fingers inside you. He delves deeper than Greg does (long, pale violinist fingers...), and you nearly shriek when he hits your g-spot. He chuckles in triumph, the vibration suddenly undoing you. Your hands wind into his dark curls as you come, tugging and making him moan as he laps up your wetness. Soon, he withdraws, wiping off his face and fingers, and you're left panting on the bed.

"Well?" he demands. You smirk.

"Results are inconclusive. Both of you will have to practice more," you say with a smirk. Both of the men look shocked for a moment, then they grin.

"I think we can do that," Greg says.

"Yes... after all, more than one trial must occur for the experiment to be a success," Sherlock adds. You laugh. You don't mind being a test subject... not at _all_.


	106. A Ride on the Tube- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by alongcamebronson: Greg or John on the tube getting turned on by Reader who is also noticing him. They can either find a way to fuck on the tube or they go somewhere else to consummate their passion

You hate trying to get home at rush hour; the easiest (and frankly, the cheapest) way back to your flat is the Underground... along with the rest of the city of London. Swiping your Oyster Card, you head down to track, boarding the train and squeezing through the throng. You figure you're well wedged enough that you don't need to hang onto the safety bar, but as soon as the train lurches forward, you trip, falling back into the lap of one of the passengers.

"I'm _so_ sorry," you say, struggling to stand.

"It's fine, but don't try and get up at the moment. You'll just end back up in my lap."

It's a man you've landed on, one with a very kind voice, in fact. He holds you gently as a good portion of the passengers disembark at the next station, but before you can move, another wave of people sweeps into the car, pressing you closer to the man in the seat. The train starts again, heading swiftly to the next station, jostling you both. You do your best to sit still, but when you feel something starting to poke against your arse, you realize that he's a bit more excited about you being in his lap than you thought.

The man realizes this at almost the same time you do, and he starts apologizing like it's his job. You're blushing rather furiously, but you have to admit... he clearly finds at least the physical contact very pleasing, and you wonder if you can take this further. When the train pulls in at the station, you manage to stand and turn, getting a good look at a man of average height with short blonde hair and kind blue eyes who is trying to hide his rather obvious erection.

"This is my stop. Sorry for landing on you before."

The man stands and grins at you, following you off the train. "Don't worry about it. And it's John, by the way. John Watson. I realized we skipped introductions before, but, I don't suppose-"

"That I'd like to finish the party I clearly just started in your trousers?" You wink at him, feeling bold and very adventurous. "Yeah, actually. I really would."

You catch how his blue eyes darken before he takes your hand and leads you purposefully through the station to the loo, checking briefly to make sure you haven't been followed and aren't being observed before pulling you in after him. John goes immediately for one of the stalls, locking the door behind the two of you and dragging you in for a kiss. You let your eyes close, giving into the feeling of his body against yours, especially when you slam back against the stall door.

The blonde works quickly, tugging your skirt up and rummaging in his pocket for a condom. As soon as he finds it, you pluck it from his fingers and open it while he undoes his flies; you roll it onto his arousal with a single movement, relishing the groan he makes and the way his eyes roll back in his head. John tugs your knickers to the side and shifts his stance, pressing against your entrance and rocking gently, barely breaching you. Your hands scrabble on his back, trying to pull him into you until your breathless whimpers push him over and he drives into you, bottoming out.

Once the step is taken, he works you over like a pro, rolling and snapping his hips, wrapping your legs around his waist to give you something to hold onto. You bury your face in his neck, clenching around him and rocking down when you can, but mostly you're just holding on for dear life while he ravishes you.

John's already worked up enough that he doesn't last as long as he clearly wants to, shuddering and spilling into the condom, grinding against your clit just right to send you over, biting his jacket to keep from screaming. He slowly pulls out and cleans up, helping you put yourself back together. You blush slightly, grinning shyly at him.

"Well... er..."

He suddenly seems uncertain and a bit shy. You pull a pen from your pocket and write your number on his hand, along with your name. When he raises his eyebrow, you reply, "In case you want another ride," before slipping out of the stall and walking for the street, grinning to yourself.


	107. Boyfriend Taking Charge- Greg and Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by xmelx: Dominant Greg, very dominant. With voyeur Mycroft. Tee hee.

You've been dating for a month before Greg brings you back to his flat for dinner, and while you are skeptical about his cooking abilities (he is a divorced man on his own who spends most of his waking hours at work), he prepares a lovely steak dinner with a very nice bottle of red wine for the two of you to share. You're giggling and enjoying yourself, wondering if you can get him to take you to bed after the meal, when the buzzer goes off. Greg stands, kissing your cheek. "Won't be a minute, luv."

You keep eating, happy, content, smiling to yourself, and you turn when you hear the door close, Greg laughing and speaking on hushed tones with... oh god. Mycroft Holmes has dropped by. You've only met the man once before, and the looks he gave you then were completely indecent... and he's giving you the same ones now.

"Uh, Greg... what's Mycroft doing here?"

Your boyfriend walks over to you with a very naughty look on his face. "Well, truth? We're friends and likes to watch, luv. Do you mind?"

The responding blush on your face really should be from complete shock and embarrassment, but the elder Holmes simply says, "Yes, she does, Gregory. It is not something she has really indulged before, but she will gladly make an exception for you. She's rather hoping you'll shag her tonight, anyway."

You redden even further, jaw dropping. "How-how-I- _Greg_!"

He's instantly at your side. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, luv. I'm-"

"I want to."

As soon as the words are out, you look away, brain finally wrapping around how easily Mycroft can read you. Greg looks slightly surprised that you've agreed "Are you sure?"

You try and get your heartbeat back under control, smirking up at your boyfriend. "Guess I have a slight exhibitionist streak. Didn't know you had one too." You see his eyes grow dark as they sweep over your body, taking in every detail.

" _Bedroom_."

His voice is a growl you hasten to obey, heading through to the room while he and Mycroft follow. The DI shuts the door and locks it, directing Mycroft to a chair where you can easily see him. Then Greg seizes you in his arms, pulling you close and kissing you. He's demanding, his tongue breaking through the barrier of your lips and delving into your mouth, his slight stubble rough on your skin. You inhale sharply, arms draped around his neck and holding on for dear life. He has you weak kneed and gasping when he breaks the kiss. As suddenly as he'd grabbed you, Greg lets you go and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you.

"Strip for me. _Now_."

Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and obey, sliding your blouse up and over your head, your hips beginning to sway slightly. Finding a rhythm as music starts in your head, you start dancing, toeing off your shoes and dropping the shirt to the floor. Your jeans are next as you slide them teasingly down your body. You throw your head back when you step from them, sliding your hands through your hair and down your skin.

"Bare your breasts for me."

Only flushing slightly this time, you turn, letting him watch as you unhook and remove the fabric, covering yourself when you turn. The bra joins the pile of clothes on the floor, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the room when you meet his eyes.

"Well then, little slut, on my lap. Let's see you put your charms to good use."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Mycroft to see just how intensely he is staring.

" _Eyes on me_."

You jump and look back to Greg who beckons you forward. Once you're standing right in front of him, he yanks you down onto his lap so that you're straddling him. He presses his lips to your ear, growling softly. "Dance for me."

Oh. Now you understand. You begin to rock in his lap, grasping his shoulders and grinding down hard, moaning softly as the bulge in his jeans grows and hardens. Greg's hands find your hips and helps, guiding you (when they aren't playing with your nipples of course). When he's satisfied and very aroused, he flips you, pinning you to the bed and pulling off your knickers. Baring your sex to the room, Greg dives in, lapping at your dripping folds, suckling your clit, and adding his fingers to pump and curl within you.

Your hands fist in the sheet while you _beg_. You beg for more, beg for him to keep going, beg for him to let you come. He's winding you up until you're ready and shaking, sobbing for release, and then his touch is gone, your boyfriend rummaging in his side table. Two seconds later, you're cuffed to the headboard and he's dropping his trousers, rolling on a condom and straddling you in your newly restrained position.

"I'm gonna fuck you like the slut you are," he hisses, still mostly dressed when he presses the tip of his cock against you. Lowering his mouth to your neck, he bites hard at the same time that he thrusts in, his pace fast and brutal. The bed is smacking the wall and creaking, your boyfriend grunting against your neck. Every breath you manage to take in comes right back out again as Greg's name, either moaned or shrieked. You're ready to explode, wanting to just dissolve or burst everywhere, aching to come, begging him now to let you. He smiles, his lips twitching against your damp skin.

Greg drops his fingers to your clit and tweaks it; you scream and your back arches, coming in a blaze of heat. He's right behind you, twitching and swelling as he fills the condom and slows down, stilling and resting on you. Once he's caught his breath, Greg pulls out and chucks the condom before getting a cool flannel and wiping your body down, cleaning you up very tenderly; he tucks you in afterwards and kisses your forehead, grabbing a pair of sleep pants before speaking softly to Mycroft.

The ginger man stops by the bed before he leaves, kissing your forehead. "You've given me quite the show tonight," he murmurs. "I'll be dreaming of you tonight, my dear."


	108. Reaffirming Life- Lestrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mamasaidknockmeout: hurt/comfort: Because of a higher-ups screw up that sends Sherlock away from a crime scene, Lestrade gets hurt by a suspect and one of his men gets shot. The reader is Lestrade's girlfriend comforting him after he gets back from hospital upset and angry.

You're in the flat that you and your boyfriend share; you're lounging on the couch, with him in his chair, when his cellphone rings. "Lestrade," he answers. Then his face goes white. "I'll... _Jesus_. I'll be right there," he says. He hangs up and nearly runs out of the living room, grabbing his coat and slamming the door behind him. You look after him, concerned. He's a DI at the Met, and if he's getting a call on his day off, it _must_ be something serious. You putter around the flat, feeling nervous for his sake; he comes home, nearly three hours later, looking haggard, drawn and upset.

"Greg?" you query as he throws his coat. "Greg, what's wrong?" He sits on the couch and buries his face in his hands. You sit beside him, not wanting to touch him just yet.

"Officer of mine... ambush. Shot. Hurt very badly. Don't know if he'll make it," he said, his voice hoarse. You close your eyes and send a silent prayer to whatever gods there are that this man recovers, and you wrap your arms around him.

"Oh God, Greg... I'm so sorry," you murmur, squeezing him tightly. He half-turns and wraps his arms around you, and you feel him shaking slightly. He's very upset; he rarely ever has officers hurt in the line of duty, and this has hit home. You hold him closer, rubbing his back gently, cradling his head to your chest to let him hear your heartbeat. It takes a long time for the shaking to stop.

You pull away slightly, and he looks older, world weary. "Do... do you need anything?" you ask him, still wrapped around him. He pauses for a moment before he stares into your face.

" _You_ ," he says, his voice hoarse. You nod and lean in, pressing gentle kisses to his mouth. He takes over, making them deeper, a bit rougher. His hands are holding your head and yours are wound around his neck, feeling the rasp of stubble as he brushes his jaw along yours. You softly open your mouth and he takes the hint, plundering with his tongue. His hands are everywhere now, cupping your breasts, which makes you arch into him.

He groans and starts tugging at your shirt and the waistband of your trousers. You remove it and stand to shed the baggy cloth sleep bottoms that you're using to bum around the flat with. He stands as well, shedding his own clothes, a fire lit in the depths of those dark eyes. There's a bulge in his pants as he crosses to you to quickly remove your bra and knickers. You slip your hand between the both of you to grasp his erection. He hisses and you tug the last garment off of him. He backs you into the couch before he lays you down on it, one knee in between your legs, his mouth trailing down your neck and collarbone to suckle at your breasts. You arch up and gasp, fingers winding into his silver hair as his own fingers find their way between your thighs and enter you, teasing your slickness.

Greg rumbles a growl in his chest and spreads your legs wide as his erection nudges at your entrance. He slips inside and begins a rough pace that you soon match, thrust for thrust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and back, your legs coming up to wrap around his hips as he pounds into you, forcing short cries from your mouth. He snaps his hips and mutters filthy, sweet things into your ear; about how wet you are, how tight and hot your sex is for him, how good you feel clenched around him, how he loves seeing his cock buried in you. That sets you over the edge; you come in a blaze, cresting and crying out his name. He groans yours as he fills you with his seed, collapsing heavily on you when he finishes. He pulls out and moves to get off of you, but your arms go up and trap him there, his head pillowed on your breast.

"We can stay like this... for however long you need," you say. You can feel him swallow and you fancy you also feel a tear... but that could just be your imagination.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs. Soon, the both of you are fast asleep, comforted by each other's warmth and closeness.


	109. Hostage- Greg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raspberry_Blonde: Narrator/Reader was part of hostage situation Greg helped to negotiate. They can't get each other off their minds, meet (by chance?) Hot, sensuous shagging.

"IF I DON'T GET WHAT I WANT IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES, I'M GONNA START PICKIN' THEM OFF, ONE BY ONE. STARTING WITH THIS BITCH HERE!" Your captor screams his ultimatum from the fourth story window, the gun in his hand pressed to your head. Tears stream down your face as you frantically search the ground below; the police have cordoned off the area and have been negotiating for the past three hours. One of the officers below has been working especially hard; he has a kind face, from what you can tell, although his features are obscured with worry and tension. The minutes drag by, two becoming three, three into four. Your captor grows impatient. "GUESS YOU REALLY WANT TO SEE HER BRAINS SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE WINDOWS THEN" he calls, cocking the gun. You cry harder. Suddenly, there's a quiet sound, and your captor drops behind you. A police sniper has managed to get the job done and you scramble away from his body. The SWAT team pours in after that, escorting the rest of the people captured with you out and into the waiting ambulances. One kindly-looking male doctor with blonde hair and blue eyes wraps a bright orange shock blanket around your shoulders. You clutch it tight around you, shaking like a leaf. As you walk out of the building, the officer that you watched from the window walks up to you.

"Thanks, John," he says to the doctor, who nods and is about to say something when he's called away to help with more of the victims. The officer looks you over, especially concerned. "How are you feeling, ma'am? He had you there for a while," he asks, his voice soothing, brown eyes searching you. You open your mouth to answer, and you can't. You begin to cry again, even though you were sure you had no tears left. He catches you as you start to crumple to the ground, and you sob into his shirt. "I'm sorry, I should have waited," he says, holding you close. You cling to him, taking comfort in his warmth and solidness. After a while you manage to pry yourself off of him, wiping your eyes. "Here's my card," he says, handing the scrap of paper to you, "if you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to contact me." You nod and he ushers you over to the ambulances again for some more thorough inspection. You look at the card and read the name embossed on it; Gregory Lestrade, DI for Scotland Yard.

oOoOo

The days and weeks pass after the incident; you keep in touch with Greg. You send him a lovely card, although you can't help but feel that the gesture is cheap after all that he and his group did for you. You attend regular meetings to deal with the aftermath and, after one night's reaffirmation of living (and a good deal of liquor), you text Greg.

_I want to thank you /properly./ Dinner tomorrow, seven?_

In the morning, your head hurts and your mouth feels like you ate an entire package of cotton-wool. You look through your phone to see if you did anything to embarrass yourself, and there's the text. Your face goes red in mortification as you see what you sent Greg. But then... wonder of wonders, he's responded.

**Dinner at seven it is! There's this great Italian place that I know, Angelo's. See you there, then.**

You blink, astonished. Then your face breaks out into a wide grin. You've got a _date_!

oOoOo

Seven takes _ages_ to roll around. You find the restaurant easily; it's nice, if a bit out of the way. You sit at the table, fidgeting nervously with the hem of your dress and the edge of the tablecloth. Greg shows up at seven on the dot, and you stand, relieved that he came. He's in the middle of a sentence with the restaurant's owner when he catches sight of you; he stops, his mouth falling open. The owner follows his gaze and smiles before disappearing for a while.

"Wow... you look... you look _fantastic_ ," Greg says as he sits down. You blush and smile; the owner comes back with menus... and a lit candle. Both of you chuckle and order, chatting over food, trading stories that have you both laughing so hard that you can barely breathe. After you pay the bill (he protests, but you insist), Greg is a gentleman and insists upon seeing you home, back to your flat.

"Well, this is me," you say as you stand before the door. You bite your lip. Now or never. "Um... I... I really did mean it. Thank you, so much, for what you did. You... you saved my life," you stutter, suddenly shy. He looks a bit bashful, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"Please, it's my job, and you've already-" you stop his words with a kiss. He's taken by surprise for all of three seconds before he's returning it, taking control, pushing you back against the wall. Your arms wind around his neck as his tongue works its way between your lips, exploring the shape of your mouth. After several long moments, you break the kiss, both of you panting hard.

"Come inside?" you murmur, looking up at him. He swallows hard, and his eyes go dark.

"Please..." he responds. You unlock your door and guide him in.

The door slams behind you, and you're all over each other. His hands are on your hips and yours are wound into his silver hair. He breaks away from your mouth to kiss his way down your neck, wringing a moan from you, which makes him respond. He looks at you in a way that makes your heart pound.

"Bedroom?" he questions. You nod vigorously and all but drag him there. Once inside, you both eagerly strip. He watches as you unhook your bra and step out of your knickers. You smirk at the tent in his pants before sauntering over to press against him, one hand between you, cupping his arousal.

"I want you inside me," you whisper. He fairly growls, pushing you to the bed as he nearly rips off the one remaining article of clothing. He finds his way between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your folds.

"Christ, you're so wet," he murmurs before he pushes into you. He fills you up, stretching you nicely, bottoming out which makes you gasp. He groans as he feels your heat and tightness around him. " _God_ that's so good," he breathes. "So good... all for _me_..." and then he begins to move. Short, rough strokes at first, then alternating with long slow ones that are so sensual that they nearly make you scream. Your hands are scrabbling at his back for purchase, on his arse to press him closer, feeling his muscles flex underneath your touch. All too soon, you feel yourself begin to flutter and clench.

"That's it, luv. Come for me..." he says into your ear. You let go, crying his name as you shatter. He thrusts a few more times before you feel him swell and twitch inside you, then he climaxes with a groan, filling you with his seed. He pulls out and flops to the side, both of you breathing hard. Greg pushes a bit of hair behind your ear from where its sticking on your damp face, and he smiles; you smile back as he draws you to him, breathing in your mingled scents.

"I didn't quite have this in mind when I said a 'proper thank you', but it works for me," you say. He chuckles as he holds you, both of you falling asleep, content.


	110. Down the Alleyway- Sherlock, Greg, and John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this specifically for LadyCorvidae (slightly inspired by my experience on a pub crawl in Scotland). She asked for: Jealous!Sherlock... because hot /damn/ that's attractive, dirty talking Greg (because /duh/), and possessive John

It's the perfect place to be on a Friday night.

You've had a few drinks, the alcohol in your bloodstream helping you to relax and move to the music pounding in the club. With every passing second, a bit more tension from the long work week melts away and leaves you feeling free and uninhibited. You know the songs and are singing along, smiling and throwing your head back with a rush of pure joy. Never in your life have you felt this alive.

Without realizing it, you soon find yourself in the middle of three men, all of them clearly dancing with _you_. One of them is tall, almost bean pole thin with a shock of dark hair, pale skin, and piercing grey-blue eyes that seem to stare into your soul. The other men are shorter than him, the silver haired man a bit taller than the blonde. Silver Fox has brown eyes and a kind face (although that face currently looks very hungry and somewhat turned on... if you saw that face on Tumblr, you'd say it could make you instantly pregnant), and the blonde has very nice blue eyes, is a bit stocky, and looks confident and at ease; he also happens to be undressing you with his gaze. Feeling emboldened by the music, the drinks, and the attention of the three men, you move face each of them in turn, dancing dirtier than you ever have before, grinding and swaying, running your hands over their torsos and down to their hips, teasingly going no further. The other two you aren't really dancing with at the time crowd behind you, mimicking your hands and pressing against your back. You give a shriek of excitement, giggling and laughing as you let yourself go for the first time in years.

After a few more songs, they pull you from the floor, out of the club (making sure you all get hand stamps first), and into the crisp, evening air. Panting and still giddy, you end up leaning into the blonde who wraps his arms around you tightly before pressing a kiss to your neck. You moan softly, shifting against him and opening your eyes. Silver Fox looks even hungrier than he did before, and Beanpole looks... well, _jealous_.

"Now, John, that's hardly fair. I saw her first-"

"Yes, but did you make a move? What's that? No? Then she's mine."

"Now, now, Sherlock, John, I'm sure we can all come to an agreement-"

"Ohhhh no, Greg. Two minutes with you and you'll have her coming in her knickers from your voice alone. We've been over this before. First move gets first choice."

As they continue bickering, you realize through the haze in your mind that they're arguing over you. Blushing slightly and very flattered, you gently push away from John (you did catch their names) and clear your throat.

"There's another option... you could all share."

You're looking at Greg when you say this, and his eyes go _dark_ in a matter of seconds. He takes two steps towards you and, instead of kissing you the way it seems he will, he drops his lips to your ear. "If we do that, luv, we may never let you go."

You shiver, pressing closer to him before suddenly being yanked away by the tall one (...Sherlock... right, it's Sherlock). He clutches you to him.

" _No_. I'll not stand by again and watch the two of you get off with her."

Oh god. He's actually _jealous_ of the other two... though you can't really see why. He has to be one of the sexiest men you've ever seen, his dark purple shirt fit to burst right off his chest. John steps forward and places a hand on Sherlock's arm, his gaze softening slightly. "Then you have first pick of what to do... right after I kiss her."

Before Sherlock can protest, John claims your mouth, his hands cupping your face and slowly threading through your hair, his tongue expertly prying your lips open and exploring your mouth. You gasp, closing your eyes and clutching him close. It's been _years_ since someone's kissed you like this, someone who properly knows what he is doing. John's mouth and hands move in tandem, directing your head and lips exactly as he wants.

"Like that, do you? John's a fantastic kisser, leaves all the ladies begging for more. Me? My _voice_ is all they need. Is it enough for you?"

You jump, John breaking the kiss as Greg murmurs in your ear; heat surges through your body, culminating between your thighs and making you squirm. Next thing you know, Sherlock's grabbed your hand and is dragging you down the nearest alleyway. He shoves you against the wall, caging you with his body and looking almost feral.

"I don't like others taking what's _mine_."

A whimper escapes as his lips close on your neck, sucking a large, dark bruise to your skin. You hear footsteps as John and Greg approach, the blonde fumbling in his pocket and pulling out a few condom packets; he hands one to Sherlock, one to Greg, and keeps one for himself. The tall, pale man in front of you fumbles with the zip on his trousers and manages to slide them and his pants down to his ankles before rucking up your skirt. He tears open the foil packet and rolls the condom onto his arousal; then, grabbing your legs, he hooks them around his waist and pushes your knickers to one side before sliding into you, groaning into your neck as he does. You bite your lip to try and keep from moaning, not really wanting to draw any attention from passersby. Sherlock begins to roll his hips, thrusting and driving you back against the wall.

John and Greg are on either side, the blonde shamelessly palming his erection through his jeans until he can't wait any longer and pulls out his length, rolling the condom on and stroking it, watching Sherlock fuck you against the unforgiving bricks. Greg's hand finds its way to your hair, stroking it until Sherlock snarls at him and he backs away. The man is moving faster now, clearly winding up for the release. You feel him start to twitch inside you, struggling to hold back your own climax. Sherlock seems to sense this and stops, slipping out even though he's not done. You whine, the noise dying in your throat when John takes his place.

"Seeing him fucking you, driving you wild, turning you on... well, darling, I can do _so_ much better."

Your eyes widen as John enters you, growling in your ear and tugging the lobe between his teeth. He gets one of your legs around his hip, the angle very different from what Sherlock had going moments before. He starts off much slower, letting you feel every single inch before changing his pace. As he works, Greg steps closer, his mouth at your ear and kissing it before beginning to speak.

"Oh, luv, so hot and wanton, spreading your legs for us... bet they feel different... John's so thick but Sherlock's longer... bet you _love_ having more than one man have his way with you, fucking you against a wall... just wait until it's my turn... I'll rock your world... there are things I can do with my tongue they can't even dream of... go on... I wanna watch you come apart... do it for John... do it for _me_..."

Greg turns your face and captures your lips, swallowing your scream as you come for John. He's gone two thrusts later, your clenching and tightening around him sending him over the edge. He pants hard, kissing along your jaw while coming down from his high; seconds later, he's gone and Sherlock is back in your space, pushing Greg away as well. "No more games; you're _mine_ this time."

He's going much harder than before, his quick thrusts driving the air from your lungs. You clutch at his back, holding on as tight as you can, and this time, when you feel him tightening and pulsing, you crash your lips together, kissing Sherlock and shattering again, coming at the same time as the taller man. He sets you down gently and cleans himself up while Greg gives you a hand to keep you standing.

"Come along, John." Sherlock and the blonde disappear around the corner, and you see them hail a cab. Greg laces your fingers together and kisses the back of your hand; you feel very sated and a bit sleepy, but Silver Fox isn't done.

"Now then... what say you to trying it with a Detective Inspector? I'm sure I can think of reasons to bring you back for questioning."


	111. "I May Be Bad, But I'm Perfectly Good At It"- Sherlock and John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by newuniverse: Sub boys, Dom Narrator. Prefs to Sherlock or Jim.
> 
> Requested by voxangelus: I think I'm going to hell for asking for this (like I'm not on my way there already), but we've had lots of Sub!Reader and Dom!Character - I'd love some Domme!Reader and Sub!Sherlock or Sub!Jim and pegging.
> 
> Requested by mamasaidknockmeout: hot and sexy part 2: The reader is a client and she pulls an Irene Adler and makes Sherlock beg for mercy twice. Bonus points if Lestrade or John is there wanking but not actively participating.

You can hardly believe you're trying this... but you've been so _bored_ that it seemed like a good idea... _and_ he has a riding crop. He doesn't even ride horses, for God's sake! So, you dress up in your tightest black miniskirt and blouse, your sexiest fishnets and your highest heels. Your hair is pulled back, and your lips are stained the deepest shade of blood red you can find. All you have to do now... is wait.

Sherlock blows into the flat like a hurricane, talking a mile a minute about his latest case. He goes on about the victim, the murderer and the stupidity of the police force, ignoring you entirely. This will not do... not at all. You frown and raise your arm high, letting the crop come down hard on the coffee table. It makes a very loud and satisfying -THWACK!- as it hits the wooden surface. Sherlock jumps, then focuses on you, ready to yell at you for interrupting his train of thought. However, he stops when he sees you, his mouth hanging open a bit as he takes in the sight you are. You smirk and walk over to him, putting an extra sway in your hips.

"Shut your mouth, _boy_. It's most unbecoming of you," you say, nudging his jaw closed with a slight snap. He swallows hard and _looks_ at you, his pupils dilating rapidly. "You've been naughty, lately. Ignoring me, ignoring your friends. Not eating, not sleeping. I think that deserves some _punishment_. Don't you?" you ask. He opens his mouth to speak, but no intelligible sound comes out. You fight the urge to laugh and raise an eyebrow instead. You've just made the great Sherlock Holmes babble like an idiot. "I see that you agree. Very _good_ , boy. No more talking unless it's to ask me to bring the crop down harder. You shall address me as 'Ma'am', and the safeword is 'Stradivarius'. To the bedroom. _Now_." He scurries to obey your orders... you can hardly believe it. This is going to be _fun_.

You follow him and shut the door a bit behind you. "Strip; I want to see you bare," you order. He swallows hard and begins to do so, tugging at his clothes in a flurry. " _Slower_. Make it last," you add. He groans but obeys, shedding his garments one by one, letting them drop to the floor. He's standing in his pants now, an impressive bulge behind them as he slides them off. You watch his erection spring free and smile like a cat. You're growing so wet that you're surprised that you aren't leaking down your thighs yet. You sink into the chair near his bed and cross your legs, watching him as he stands there, chest heaving, cock twitching. "On your knees, boy. Come to me," you command.

He falls to his knees and crawls over to you, sitting back on his heels, looking at you, wondering what you'll do next. "Kiss my feet," you say, extending one out before him. He groans and presses his mouth to the toe of your stiletto heel, then up the top of your foot, trailing his lips around the ankle as he starts to work up the calf. You press the other foot into his shoulder and shove gently. "I said _feet_ , not legs. You need to learn how to _listen_ , boy," you say as you stand. "On the bed, face down. NOW."

He scurries off and does so, quivering slightly. You smirk as you survey his marble-white flesh. "I want you to count for me," you say as you tap the crop into the palm of your free hand. Bringing your arm up, you let the leather fall hard on his arse. He hisses but begins to count, his rich baritone rough with desire and pain.

"One, Ma'am. Two, Ma'am. Three, Ma'am. F-four..." he gasps and adds your title quickly as you lay numbers five, six and seven, watching his skin grow red from the blows. Once you reach ten, you're satisfied and he's whimpering as he thanks you for your punishment. You trail your hand along the tender flesh and he jumps a bit. "Sit up, boy. _Such_ a good listener you're being," you praise him. His face beams with pride as you cup his jaw, looking into those beautiful blue eyes. "Now... I want you to stroke yourself for me. Touch yourself like it was _me_ touching you. You will stop at once if you feel like you're going to come. Am I understood?" you say. He groans.

"Y-yes, Ma'am," he replies, breathless. Before he can obey, though, you hear a sound and you turn. John is at the door of the bedroom, his eyes wide and his face red from being caught spying.

"A _voyeur_. Well, Doctor Watson... I don't take very kindly to being interrupted during my playtime," you say as you drag him in. Sherlock watches John, no trace of embarrassment on his face to be seen so vulnerable by his friend and flatmate. "You, sir, can sit in that chair. No touching, no participating. You like to watch? Then you can _watch_. And that is all you can do. Have I made myself clear?" you bite out, your voice more commanding than you've ever heard it before. John swallows hard as he sits down in the chair. "Yes... yes Ma'am," he says. You smile.

" _Good_." You turn back to Sherlock, whose eyes are fixed on you. "Now, boy... get to work." You watch as he touches himself, his long, clever fingers wrapping around his cock as he strokes with slow, languid movements. His eyes flutter shut and his head falls back as he moves, a groan rumbling from his throat. You swallow hard and do your best to remain as aloof and cold as ice, even though you want nothing more than to pin him to the bed and fuck him silly. That brings a wicked idea to your head.

"That's enough, boy. Change in plans," you say. "I have to go fetch something. The both of you are to stay right where you are, not to move a muscle until I return." You swiftly exit and rummage through your things before you find what you're looking for. You bring them back, and Sherlock's eyes instantly flit to your hands and what's in them. He bites his lip and groans as you grin. "Oh, yes, _boy_. You know what I'm going to do... but first, I want you to strip me."

He rises to his feet and walks over to you, gently undoing your blouse and sliding it off of your shoulders, his hands trailing along your skin. Your bra is unclasped and discarded, your stilettos are unfastened and set aside, your skirt is unzipped and your fishnets are dragged down with it. You're bare before him as you fasten the strap-on around your waist and use the lube in the other hand to slick it liberally. John is breathing harshly from his place in the chair, his eyes trained on you, the bulge in his trousers obvious. You send him a wink and he groans, his hands keeping a white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair.

"Hands and knees on the bed, boy. Remember the safeword; if you need me to stop, just tell me," you say, reassuring as you trace your hands along the knobs of his spine. Sherlock does so and you slick up your fingers and probe gently at his entrance, working him open slowly. He whimpers and rocks back on them. You giggle. "Such an _eager_ pet you are. Well, then, you're ready for this."  You place the head of the strap-on at his loosened entrance as you slide your fingers out, then you rock into him, going slowly so as not to hurt him. Sherlock's breaths are leaving him in harsh rasps as you bury the toy inside him, inch by inch. Once it's fully seated, you grip his hips and silently revel in the feeling of power. Now you know why men are so into this. You begin to rock, drawing out a little ways before pushing back in. Sherlock whimpers and groans as you move, and you bend to drag your teeth down the flesh of his back. You move faster and he cries out when you hit his prostate.

You withdraw and discard the toy, finally unable to stand it any longer. "On your back, boy. I'm going to reward you for being so well-behaved," you croon. He flips and does so, and you straddle him, teasing his aching cock with your wetness before you sink down onto him, moaning as he fills you. John is staring at you as you start to ride Sherlock. Your head is thrown back, hair coming loose as you move, as you fuck him with abandon. You glance over to where the doctor is sitting, jaw clenched tightly. "You may pleasure yourself," you manage to say between thrusts. It's like he can't get his zip down fast enough; John is wanking like he's about to get caught, watching as you ride Sherlock.

The detective's hands are on your hips, guiding your movements. You can feel him start to twitch inside you, and you swiftly circle your thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock. He whines in protest. "Do you want to come?" you pant. He nods. "Then _beg for mercy_." He snarls at you but you squeeze harder, making him whimper.

"Please, Ma'am..." he murmurs. You grin, like the cat that got into the cream.

"One more time, _boy_."

" _Please_ , Ma'am. Please... let me _finish_..."

You nod and release your hold on him, speeding your movements.  Sherlock groans your name in that sinful baritone as he releases inside you; John is next, hissing as he spills himself all over his hand, and you're the last to go, clenching and fluttering and arching as you scream out your pleasure. The three of you collapse in boneless, sweaty heaps. You manage to pull yourself off of Sherlock and lie in the bed beside him. He pulls you to him, wanting to share in your warmth as the sweat cools and dries from his skin.

"Next time... it's going to be _our_ turn," he rumbles in his chest.

"Too right," John agrees tiredly from his place in the chair. You just chuckle... only fair, after all.


	112. Everyone Has A First Time- Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Raspberry_Blonde: Mycroft is the Iceman AND the Virgin. Narrator helps take care of both issues

In all the times you meet Mycroft Holmes, you never imagine he'll ask you out until he does; he's always so cold and formal and distant that he doesn't seem like the type of person to go out for a night of clubbing or to see a film at the cinema. Then again, you never think you'll enjoy yourself as much as you do. That first dinner he has you laughing for most of it, his biting, sarcastic wit a breath of fresh air after all of the cheese balls who have tried to pick you up in the past. The elder Holmes is intelligent and rather sexy in his three piece suit complete with waistcoat and fob watch.

The only trouble that you can see (at all) is the sheer lack of intimacy.

There is nothing: zip, zilch, nada. The most he touches you is his hand at your elbow to guide you through the room at the more formal affairs or (very rarely) at your waist to show that you are his for the evening. But, other than that, he doesn't hold your hand, doesn't touch you, and there is _no_ kissing.

After two months of this, you are fed up enough that, in the car on the way back to your place, you confront him about it, and of all the reactions you are prepared for, you do not expect him to flush bright red and start stuttering; it would seem that you've rendered the British Government speechless.

"Mycroft, is everything all right?"

"No, of course, everything is fine-"

"Then why do you look like I could fry an egg on your face?"

He blushes an even deeper red, and you're positive now that no one's ever seen the Iceman like this before. After a few minutes of awkward silence, suddenly, everything clicks.

"Mycroft, are... are you a virgin?"

He doesn't look at you, staring at the floor. _Oh, you poor darling_. You scoot over in your seat and lay a reassuring hand on his arm. "It's all right, Mycroft. Everyone has a first time."

"What was yours like?"

Not the question you are expecting, but you roll with it. "Not what I had hoped for. I was drunk, and he was a bit of a player. But I really like you, Mycroft. It's not like him, and you know me. We've practically been dating for a few months now, and I _really_ like you."

You cup his face in your hands, your eyes trying to tell him what he clearly doesn't believe.

"Close your eyes," you whisper.

He looks skeptical, but he obeys, and you slowly lean in and kiss him, very aware that it's almost certainly his first, and you want to make it good.

He's extremely hesitant at first, but once you begin to move your lips against his, teasing little moans from him, he grows bolder, more dominant. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, almost in his lap as he kisses you back. You two are still entwined, just starting to explore kissing with tongue when the car stops in front of your flat. You break the kiss, breathing heavily. "Come up with me. _Please_."

"I... _yes_... I want more..."

Grinning, you lead him to your flat, shutting the door and showing him the way to your bedroom. He starts to get nervous again, but you kiss him gently and sit him down on the bed. "Let me take care of you, Myc."

He nods, leaning in to re-capture your lips. After such a short while, he's grasped a fair amount about the act and soon has you panting and begging for him. He smirks, releasing your mouth so you can strip. You do so slowly, letting him get a good look at your body. Your bra and knickers you leave on while you help him out of his clothes, folding and laying them neatly on a chair in the corner. Only when he is in his pants do you then take off your bra, guiding his hands up to touch you. It takes him less than five seconds to discover how sensitive your nipples are, and then he practically abuses this new knowledge, tweaking and pulling them until you're almost crying.

His pants are next, his arousal springing free as you toss his pants into the corner. You kneel between his legs, running your hands along the skin of his thighs. Slowly, you lean in and lick a stripe up his arousal, looking up to make sure it's all right. His eyes are wide and staring; clearly, no one has ever made him feel this way before. Still taking your time, you kiss along the heated flesh before taking it in your mouth, suckling gently and bobbing in his lap.

Mycroft's hands find their way to your hair, his breathing accompanied by groans now. You don't want him coming too soon, so you pull off with a smirk and stand up to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. When you break the kiss, you fumble in your side table drawer for a condom, ripping the package open and rolling it onto his erection. You have the ginger-haired man slide back on the bed (still seated) before taking off your knickers and climbing on after him. Positioning yourself in his lap, you line up with his sheathed length and sink onto him, going slowly as he fills you, biting your lip and letting your head fall back. Once he's bottomed out, you sit there, letting him adjust. He looks slightly stunned, as if he can't believe this is happening.

"Are you all right?"

He nods, taking a deep breath and kissing you gently, his mouth seemingly expert now. Grinning, you pull back and look at him. "Move with me."

You show him how, rocking in his lap, rolling your hips, rising up almost all the way off only to sink back down completely. You guide his hands to your hips, and he gets the idea, taking his cue from your rhythm as to how to move, how hard to thrust... and, as with everything Mycroft does, once he has the basic hang of it, he takes over.

He's holding you in place and fucking you hard, pounding up until you're screaming his name, but he's not touching your aching clit, the angle working more in his favor than yours at the moment. You start begging for him to touch you, guiding one hand to your bud, and he starts to play, experimenting with different pressures, movements, techniques, and amazingly enough, has you come twice in rapid succession, the surprise tightening of your passage pulling him over. He cries your name, burying his face in your neck and holding you close to his body.

You're both twitching and shaking slightly when you pull apart. He takes care of the condom, and you make sure the both of you are tucked in as the sweat on your bodies dries. You snuggle up against Mycroft, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands resting just over your belly as you press your back to his chest. "And? How was it?" you ask sleepily.

Mycroft kisses your ear. "Next time... I'll be hovering over _you_."


	113. More Powerful than the Government- Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by newuniverse: Dom!Narrator with Sub!Mycroft. Let's bring the British Government to his knees shall we ladies....*giggle*

You smirk to yourself as you empty out your bag of goodies from shopping; there are definitely certain advantages to dating Mycroft Holmes, not the least of which is full access to his credit card. You had an idea about a week before when he tried out a little bit of Dom/sub play with you and completely rocked your world; you've never come that hard or that loud before, much to your embarrassment when you left for work the next morning and one of the other tenants was giving you the eye. Mycroft spoke with him, hasn't been a problem since.

Anyhow, you pick up the riding crop and flex it in your hands, trailing the end over the rest of your toys. Tonight is going to be _memorable_...

oOoOo

"I'm home!" You hear Mycroft drop his keys in the bowl by the door and his umbrella in the stand in the hall. "Darling? Your shoes, purse, and jacket are here, so you haven't gone out."

Your heels click on the wooden floors as you saunter out from the room you share with Mycroft, the crop tapping lightly against the palm of your hand. Your hair and makeup are done to perfection, and your lips are curled in the hint of a smile, and as for your clothes... you aren't wearing any.

"Don't tell me you're trying to give the orders, Mr. Holmes. That simply won't do."

You can tell that you've genuinely surprised him. something you've never really managed once in the six months you've been with him. He's struggling to maintain his composure, but he's not succeeding very well; it's been nearly a week since the last time you had sex. "You've been a very _bad_ British Government, haven't you? All those wars, all the hours spent away from home... from _me_." You trace the crop along his shoulders, making him shiver. "I ought to punish you for making me wait so long. Do you think I should punish you?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm, not very desperate. How about now?"

The crop whistles through the air as you smack his still clothed arse, making him jump slightly.

"Y-yes."

"Yes _what_?"

"Yes, _mistress_."

You smile, mocking and patronizing. "Very good," you reply, talking to him the way you would a toddler. "The safeword is 'cake'."

He fights back a glare, his hands twitching at his sides. "Awww, does the big ginger boy want to touch?" You giggle, smacking his stomach and sauntering around behind him. "If you're good, I just might let you. Now... hands and knees. I want you to crawl for me."

A muscle twitches in Mycroft's eye as he lowers himself to the floor and crawls in front of you, you cropping his bum when you think he's moving too slow. "Look what I have... I must say that I like the view from up here."

He's silent the whole time, staying on the floor when you shut the door to the room behind you. "Now... so many options... I wonder where I should start? Oh! I know!! Such a pretty little pet of mine shouldn't be wearing all that. Strip, pet, and fold everything neatly. Not a crease out of place."

"Yes mistress." You sit on the bed, one leg crossed over the other while Mycroft obeys your orders, stripping bare and folding everything as neatly as his OCD mind can make it. He sets them in the hamper by the door to the walk-in closet and crawls back to kneel at your feet; you're delighted to see that he's already half hard. You stand, using the crop to maneuver his face to the left and right, examining him. "Hmmm, yes... now, up on the bed, pet. Don't make me ask twice." A sharp tap on his shoulder sends your boyfriend scurrying. You head for the bag of toys and pull out a vibrator and a bottle of lube, setting the bottle next to Mycroft. "Work yourself open for me like a good little slut."

His eyes widen, and he bites his lip, slicking up his fingers, laying back, and pressing one finger against his puckered entrance, slowly pressing inside himself with a gasp. While Mycroft begins pumping that finger, you let the crop almost lazily trace the length of his cock, bringing him to full hardness in a matter of seconds. You play with his nipples next, hissing filthy little insults when he adds a second finger to himself.

You smack his stomach twice, ordering him to stop. Setting aside the crop, you lube up the vibrator and kneel between Mycroft's legs, flicking it onto the lowest setting and pressing it against his loosened hole. The ginger-haired man gasps, twisting away slightly. The crop smacks across his chest in an instant, a red line blooming on his pale skin. "You take exactly what I give you or I tie you up and you get nothing."

"Yes... mistress." He's losing himself in the subspace now, grasping the headboard to keep from pulling away.

"Good fuckslut," you growl, pressing the toy halfway into him and hitting the middle setting. Mycroft moans, his brow furrowing. You leave him there for a moment, returning with rope that you use to bind his hands where they are. "So you won't be tempted to touch yourself. Naughty fucksluts don't deserve that, am I clear?"

"Y-yes... yes, mistress..."

Smirking, you sit between his legs again and nudge his thighs further apart, adding pressure to the vibrator to send it in deeper into his body. You're doing this, taking Mycroft freaking Holmes completely apart so that he doesn't even know his own name... your fingers circle your clit, pulling a moan from your lips.

That grabs Mycroft's attention instantly, his eyes going straight to your fingers and what they're doing; you can see how torn he is, but all you do is glance at the crop and he closes his eyes, his awareness going back to the vibrator. You flip it up a few notches and pump it a few times before backing it off, beads of sweat forming on his brow. It's not quite the stimulation that he needs, but why should he get to come first.

"Open your eyes now, fuckslut. I want you to watch."

He obeys slowly, groaning as you smirk at him, slipping two fingers inside yourself while your thumb rubs your clit. "So good... but your fingers are so much /longer/, reach deeper... bet you want to do this... don't you?"

"Yes... oh yes I do, mistress."

You give him your best honey-dipped smile. "Not today." Your fingers speed up while you think about Mycroft taking you apart, his fingers and tongue and cock pleasuring you until you can't bear it and you crest, crying his name and sinking back against the sheets. You giggle, giddy and happy as you push yourself up and pop your fingers in his mouth. "A reward for watching so obediently."

The way his tongue works on your digits very nearly as you coming again, but you have to finish him as well. Turning the vibrator all the way up, you ease it in deeper until the tip is against his prostate; then you wriggle the toy, adding to the vibrations. Mycroft breaks, coming and begging for you as you mercilessly work his prostate. When he's completely limp and twitching, you turn off the toy and ease it from his body, murmuring how much you love him. Setting it aside on a towel, you untie him and go fetch a damp flannel to wipe off his release. Once he's clean, you curl up against him and press a kiss to his neck. "I brought the British Government to his knees," you giggle, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving you exhausted.

Mycroft chuckles, kissing the top of your head. "Just remember... payback is a bitch."


	114. "'L' Is For The Way..."- John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Cynthia: I'd also love to see a scene at Sarah's wedding to which John is invited. His plus one is a woman he's been dating awhile but they've not shagged and she's a little intimidated by Sarah being the first woman John banged when he got back from Afghanistan. He sets out to convince her that he and Sarah didn't work out for a reason and that he is falling in love with her. Perhaps the woman doesn't think she's as pretty or accomplished as Sarah and she is having second thoughts as to a real future with John.

You'll never in a million years admit this to your boyfriend, but you are _not_ excited about this wedding.

John's good friend Greg Lestrade is getting married (finally sorted it with his cheating ex-wife, thank god), and now the DI is marrying Sarah Sawyer, a doctor at the clinic John used to work at part time as well as being the first woman he dated (and shagged, you try not to think about that part) upon his return from Afghanistan. John is Lestrade's best man, so you are the blonde ex-army doctor's plus one, and you are _not happy_ about it.

For one thing, you don't do weddings. You just don't. Nothing pisses you off more than to be surrounded by lots of lovey dovey stuff (that, and your sister has already been married three times... if you have to wear _one_ more bridesmaid dress...), and not only that, but this is the wedding for a girl your boyfriend has _slept with_... and you've been dating him for three months and still can't say that you've even done that... and she's a _doctor_ and she's clever and blonde and pretty and you're... well, in your eyes, you aren't any of that. You feel you have curves in the wrong places, your chest isn't the right size, and you certainly don't have her gracefulness; she looks like a bloody angel in her dress. How the hell did John Watson ever break up with _her_ and start going out with _you_?

oOoOo

The ceremony is lovely, lots of white and pale blues and purples. Sarah is a vision, Greg is rather handsome in his tux, and John... well, you can think of a great many things you want to do to John while he's in that tux, although most of them involve stripping it off his body. Sitting there in the pew and watching Greg and Sarah bind their lives together, you realize almost with a jolt that you want a future with your boyfriend, one that, perhaps, ends with the two of you up there before a priest, but that nasty little voice in your mind pipes up, and once it gets going, only God can shut it up. It blabs on and on about how that will never happen, about how gorgeous Sarah is, how it makes no sense that he left her, that it should be John up there instead of Greg...

By the time you reach the reception, your smile may as well be painted on. Greg and Sarah don't notice, the doctor even making a point of saying how much she loves your dress. You're standing by the punch bowl when John manages to free himself from everyone after the toasts and make it over to you, and he notices instantly that something is wrong; he describes it as the twinkle going out of your eyes. Glancing around, he leads you from the reception and into an empty room in the hotel where the wedding party is spending the night. Shutting the door, he turns to look at you, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing-"

"You know who my flatmate is. I can tell when you're lying."

You sigh. "What's wrong? You wanna know what's wrong? You two look _amazing_ together even though she just married Greg! You look like you belong with someone like her, someone clever, someone in medicine who understands about patients and diagnoses and procedures-"

"But you _are_ clever."

"I'm not clever like _her_."

John is silent for a moment, his kind blue eyes (why are they so / _nice_ /?!) watching you thoughtfully. "I see now," he murmurs after a minute. "I understand. But... can't you see that I'm falling for you?"

You blush crimson and sit down on a chair, staring at the floor. "I-I could see myself marrying you while you were up there. _God_ you're so handsome. I dunno why you bother with me."

John's head snaps up, and in two strides, he crosses to where you are, pulls you to your feet, and kisses you, _really_ kisses you. It's a kiss you can feel from the roots of your hair to your toes, one that burns straight through you, one that claims you. When his lips part from yours, he's definitely breathing a bit heavier. "I 'bother with you' as you so bluntly put it because you're _different_. Things with Sarah didn't work because Sherlock got in the way; she and I got kidnapped, and she nearly died. Everything deteriorated from there, and I couldn't juggle work and Sherlock and the relationship. But _you_ -" here he smiles brilliantly at you, the smile that makes your knees go all wobbly,"-you have already proven on multiple occasions that you can handle Sherlock. Brilliantly, I might add. Then there's your passion for literature, for the written word. Do you know what you look like when you start talking about books?"

You shake your head.

"You _glow_ ," John whispers, stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs. "It happens when you cook too, only then you're singing and I could listen to that all day, and you're a bloody good cook I might add. I love you voice, your hair, your body, I love everything about you that makes you... well, _you_."

You barely hear anything he says after that because all you can focus on are three words.

_I._

_Love._

_You._

He loves you.

You cut him off in the middle of whatever he's saying, kissing him hard, devouring his mouth. You can't believe that he loves you, but he did say it. He loves you just as you are. No changes, nothing different, he doesn't want you to be more like Sarah, he loves you for what makes you who you are.

"How about... we move this upstairs?" John growls in your ear.

"Fuck yes."

He snickers at your language and tugs you to the elevator. All the members of the wedding party have rooms in the hotel since it is shaping up to be a whole night affair, so John has the key to your room. He lets you in, flicking on one of the lamps by the bed after the door shuts, casting a soft glow on the room. Crossing back to where you stand, he helps you out of your shoes before turning you around and unzipping your gown, kissing the skin of your back as it's revealed. Between every kiss, he whispers something else about how he loves you, some attribute or quality or sometimes just the three words. Once your dress is draped over the chair, he kisses your mouth again; it's the only time he's stopped talking since he started undressing you.

You help him out of his tux next, neatly draping everything on the table, and you can't help but notice how fit he is; running around the city with Sherlock has done amazing things for him. However, it's the scar on his shoulder that draws your immediate attention. Your fingers trace the starburst shape very gently, and then you lean in and kiss it, learning it with your lips and tongue. John gasps, clutching at your hips and shaking slightly. You're fairly certain that no one has ever done that for him before.

When you finish your exploration of the scar, you pull a condom from your clutch. He raises an eyebrow, and you blush. "I've... kind of been carrying them around since you asked me out. It's been driving me nuts that we haven't slept together yet. The number of times I've gotten off imagining it was you... oh. I-I guess you'll get to _hear_ me cum with your name on my lips tonight, then."

Of everything you could have said, that, apparently, was perfect. John's blue eyes go dark, nearly black with desire and he backs you up until you fall to the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you with his muscular body. "Yes," he purrs in your ear. "More than once if I'm good. And I'm _very good_. The best."

Your eyes roll back in your head as he begins to explore your body with his mouth; your strapless bra joins your clothes when he focuses on your breasts, sucking both nipples into hardness before moving on. He licks his way down your stomach to your lacy knickers. Grinning up at you, he takes them in his mouth and tugs them down and off your body with his _teeth_. That clever mouth pops back up to your sex once the last offending article of clothing is gone, and he dives in, giving you hardly any warning before tantalizingly slowly working two fingers into your entrance and lapping at your clit. You clench around him, your hands fisted in the sheets, your head tossing back and forth against the pillows, and your breath sobbing in your throat. You can barely breathe, and you're so aroused that it hurts. John begins pumping his fingers in you as his lips close around your clit and suck, and you don't even have time to warn him before you're coming, crying his name and panting, struggling to breathe properly.

While you're still gasping, John kisses you, his face still shiny with your release, and the kiss is tangy and dark, made all the sweeter when he whispers, "I love you." The doctor takes the condom and unwraps it, rolling it onto his erection and then sitting on the bed. He beckons to you, and when you can't sit up, he smirks and helps you into his lap. John lines himself up and slowly, gently sinks into you, bottoming out... and _deargodabove_ he's thick and amazing, and just the sensation of him inside you is almost enough to make you come again... _almost_.

John's arms encircle you and hold you close as he begins rocking, thrusting up, but it's not enough. It's not even close to enough. He seems to be barely moving within you, and you start begging.

"Please, please just take me... John _please_... I want you to... _John_..."

With a snarl, you find yourself on your back, the blonde over you with a satisfied look on his face. "I was just waiting for permission," he whispers before pulling almost all the way out and driving back in. Hard.

His pace is ruthless and perfect. You don't care how loud you are or how many people hear because your boyfriend is making you scream, and it's the best thing in the world. You've never felt this stretched by someone before, and with every thrust, you're falling more and more in love with his cock. John is currently sucking a love bite to your neck, his hands wandering down to play with your nipples, one tweak nearly sending you over the edge again. When you finally can't stand it and thin you will explode, you start begging again.

John complied, his fingers instantly finding your clit and shattering you. Your climax is enough to tip him over, his thrusts becoming erratic as he empties himself into the condom, groaning your name against your sweat-damp chest. When he finally stills, you both lay there for a few minutes, breathing heavily until you start giggling. He looks up at you. "What is so funny?"

You grin at him. "I just had the best sex of my life and it's not even _my_ wedding night."

That pulls a smile from your lover. He kisses you softly, slipping out and cleaning you both up. "Well then, shall I still order the champagne?"

There's only one answer for that. "Of course, my love."


	115. In Shining Armor- Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Areyoubeingshagged: Mycroft saves a woman from an asshole date and takes her back to his
> 
> Yeah... but this is more fun. ;)

You sit at the restaurant and wait. Your friend set you up on some blind date, and he should have been here ten minutes ago. He finally comes in and sits down, and you're able to forgive him when he mentions something about work. Then he won't _shut up_ about it. You smile and nod, trying to be interested as he quotes facts and figures at you, all through the meal. God, you're so _bored_.

Dinner's over, and you send for the bill; you each pay for your respective entrees and then you wait for a cab. He slips an arm around your waist.

"Hey, um... that's a little too fast for me," you say as you try to disengage the appendage.

"C'mon, sweet thing... y'know you want to," he says as he pulls you closer, giving what he thinks must be a seductive smile. You glower.

"I believe the lady said _no_ ," a smooth voice interrupts him. You both turn, and you see a tall drink of water in an impeccable suit with ginger hair. He's glaring at your date, a look that could freeze rock. The arsehole snorts and just wraps his other arm around you and you try to pull free.

"Fuck off, mate," he says disdainfully. The tall man leans in and begins to speak very quietly, so only your date can hear him. He turns white and releases you like you were made of molten lead, then backs away slowly before running off. You look to your savior, your eyes shining.

"Thank you, thank you so much," you say. He smirks as he watches the man's retreating figure, then hails you a cab. You're surprised as he slides in beside you.

"It would be remiss of me not to escort you home, in case he decides he wants to return," he says. "Mycroft Holmes, by the way." You introduce yourself with a blush and a stammer as you tell the cabbie your address. The ride to your flat is short and Mycroft gallantly pays for your fare, although you protest.

"Um... do you want to come inside for a cuppa?" you shyly ask him. Mycroft looks a bit surprised, but his stern demeanor breaks into a smile.

"Yes, actually, I would."

You usher Mycroft inside, doing a quick sweep of your flat. You're thankful that you cleaned it yesterday; no errant piles of crud, no knickers flung over the couch. You both talk, swapping stories as the kettle boils; you're a bit embarrassed about the mismatched mugs, wishing that you had a proper tea set, but he doesn't seem to mind.

The time winds on, and it's nearly half nine when you glance at the clock.

"Oh wow, it's late," you remark. Mycroft looks up and nods as you walk him to the door. You flush as you stand there as he gets his umbrella; you really don't want him to leave, you were having a nice time. He clears his throat, snapping you from your thoughts.

"I believe a goodnight kiss is customary," he says. Your eyebrows go up, but you don't complain. You wind his arms around his neck when he presses his mouth to yours. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, then his hands rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are significantly more red in the face. He slips you a card. "My number," he murmurs before he leaves. You grin happily after the door closes. You intend to use this number, soon.

oOoOo

The months pass; you and Mycroft have been dating for some time now. You jokingly refer to him as your gallant knight, and he calls you his lady fair (which never fails to bring a flush to your face). You're having your nightly cuppa and go for the goodnight kiss at the door; it lasts longer than usual, causing you to go breathless, especially as he's holding you flush to him and you can feel something poking at your belly. He backs away and clears his throat, looking embarrassed. Your eyes go dark and you smirk at him.

"Well... my /gallant knight/ is especially pleased, I'd say," you purr. He swallows hard, his blue eyes darkening as well.

"My lady fair, you have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs into your ear, making you shiver.

"Then why don't you show me?" you reply. His eyes go wide and he pulls you to him, claiming your mouth roughly. Your fingers wind into his hair as one of his hands cups the back of your head and the other is wound around your waist. The kiss lasts and lasts and lasts, you're both panting when you break it.

"/Bedroom,/" he growls, and drags you off.

You both are stripped bare in a matter of seconds before you survey each other, naked. Mycroft is tall and lean, and his cock is _gorgeous_ , rising in a gently curved arc from its nest of ginger curls. He's looking at you like he could etch your image into his brain, and then he's all over you, kissing you, fondling your skin like he was learning your texture and your scent. His fingers find their way inside of you and you keen as he curls them. You can feel his grin from where he's pressed into the skin of your breasts, before capturing a nipple in his mouth and suckling, causing you to cry out. He works you to a near frenzy before he removes his fingers and replaces them with the tip of his cock. He looks into your eyes, as if for approval. You nod, and he slides into you, one inch at a time.

He groans as he feels you stretched around him, and then, he begins to move. Oh, he's perfect: slow and sweet, then hot and fast. You drag your fingernails down his back, leaving marks in his freckled skin as he touches that place deep inside you that makes you see stars. Your ankles are linked around his hips.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice in your ear makes you lose it. You cry out as you climax around him, clenching and spasming. Mycroft lets out a nearly sub-vocal groan as he follows close behind, coating your insides with his release. He gently pulls out and rests beside you, the both of you panting as you come down from your peak. He smiles softly at you, the expression rare and unguarded. You smile back and exchange soft afterglow kisses as you cuddle in your bed, and then you both fall asleep, wrapped around each other, dreaming sweet dreams of knights and ladies fair, content in each other's arms.


	116. One for the Sketchbook- Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MofBaskerville: Sherlock goes undercover as a life art model to try to find a killer who has been systematically murdering art teachers.

You trudge into your art class, charcoal, pencils, and sketchbook in hand. You find your seat and when you look up, your face burns. Shit... you totally forgot that today was the live model day, and the model standing at the front of the room has just stepped out of the very dirty part of your brain. He's tall, skin like marble, dark curls, and has the most piercing blue eyes that you have _ever_ seen. You swallow hard as he adjusts the sheet that protects his modesty until the rest of the students file in which they do, one by one. They girls are blushing and giggling, whispering behind their hands. The boys are groaning and complaining (a few of them blushing like the girls). Your professor steps up in front of the room and drones on about respecting the model and the beauty of the human body. Beauty of the human body is right... _especially_ after he drops his sheet. You inhale a quick breath.

Oh. Sweet. Mercy.

 _Everything_ about him is beautiful; and he's hung like a ruddy _racehorse_. You swallow hard once more as you set your pencil to the paper and begin to sketch.

The hours pass; you admire the man's sheer dedication; other models would have fidgeted or moved outright, but he's as still as a statue. You, on the other hand, are about as twitchy as a cat's tail in a room full of rocking chairs. You are torn between staring at him outright and keeping your eyes so focused on your sketch pad that the paper would catch fire. Soon, the period ends and the rest of the students file out. You're the last one, getting your things situated. The model has wrapped the sheet around himself once more. You're about to leave, when he speaks.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls as you head to the door. You shiver; his voice is like smoke and whiskey, low and seductive, making you think of autumn and bed sheets and rain on the windows.

"Yes?" you manage to say. You turn and look him in the eyes to avoid staring at his bare chest.

"How well do you know your professor?" he asks. You're a bit put out... he has a thing for.... older men? He must have caught the look on your face, because he snorts. "Please. I'm hardly interested in him. What I am interested in, though, is solving a case and preventing a murder from happening." Your eyes go wide; you've heard of the killer who seems to be targeting professors of the arts... so, is your Life Drawing teacher next? You'd hate that; he's a grandfatherly type, nice enough, and generous with his constructive criticism. You tell him what you know about Professor Archer, and he gives you a grin.

"That's _excellent_. He's a sure target!" he says. You look at him, horrified. The man before you rolls his eyes and explains. "If he's a target, I can deduce the killer's motives before Professor Archer becomes one of the victims." You nod.

"You're no model," you finally say. He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

" _Obviously_. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

"Consulting detective...? That is _brilliant_!" you say, grinning. That is just too cool! Sherlock looks pleased with himself and smiles. Your face burns; he really has to stop that or you'll break a blood vessel in your face. You suddenly hear voices outside the classroom, which is odd. Yours is a night class, the last one of the evening.

" _Damn_ ," he hisses. He looks quickly at the door, then at you. "My apologies," he says curtly, and then... he's kissing you as if his life depended on it. You make a surprised noise in your throat and your supplies drop to the floor as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands are clutching your hips as the voices draw close and then pass away, clearly just some janitors on their early rounds. He breaks the kiss and locks his eyes to the doorway before he lets out a breath. You're reeling slightly; you look up at Sherlock, his full lips a little more swollen from the kiss. He turns back to you, his eyes burning, flicking over your body. You're doing an inspection of your own; there's more of a bulge to the sheet than there was before, causing heat to flood between your legs. He clears his throat, seeming a bit embarrassed by the reaction of his own physiology.

"Again, I apologize," he says, his voice a bit more husky.

"Please... please don't," you manage to say, breathless. He stares hard at you, then pulls you to him once more, claiming your mouth with in a frenzy. Your fingers wind in his raven curls and his are holding you to him, so tightly that you wonder if he's trying to absorb your body through osmosis. He backs up, leading you to a more secluded area of the classroom, one not visible from the open door. In seconds, he's removing you efficiently from your clothes, his eyes trailing over your bare skin as your chest heaves with deep breaths to regain the air he stole from your lungs during the kiss. He drops the sheet and kicks your discarded clothing aside before he lays you down on the fallen material. Your fingers trace the angles of his face and the planes of his chest, and he turns into the touch, like it's unexpected but not unwelcome.

His hands, large with long fingers, conduct and exploration of their own: cupping your breasts, sliding down the curves of your waist down to your hips, then stealing between your legs to find the wetness that has gathered there. You inhale sharply as he slides a single finger inside of you, curling it expertly. You bite your lower lip to muffle your cries. He smiles, the expression pleased at your reactions as he adds a second finger. Your own exploration has you wrapping your hand around his cock. He gasps and moans, hips twitching into your grasp in needy little thrusts. Slowly, you guide him to your entrance; he removes his fingers and slides his arousal in, groaning at the feeling of your heat enveloping him. You arch your hips and utter a soft cry; you weren't lying when you said he was hung like a horse... he stretches you, filling you deliciously. He begins to move, short, slow strokes that have you begging for him. He chuckles at your needy whine before he starts thrusting in earnest.

"You feel divine," he murmurs into your ear. You nod, returning the compliment (albeit a bit more incoherently). He gasps when you clench around him, a growl reverberating deep in his chest as he quickens his pace. His clever tongue draws along your neck, feeling your pulse as his hands clutch your hips, pulling you into him. When he nips at your collarbone, you come undone; you gasp out his name and flutter around him. He's caught by surprise by your sudden climax and it pulls him over the edge as well, making him spill into you with a rumbling moan of your name (you don't recall telling him... he must have paid attention when the professor called role). He pants into your shoulder for a moment before he dislodges from you and helps clean you up. You help him find his regular clothes (which he looks sublime in _and_ out of).

"So... good... good luck with the case," you say as you ready to part ways. He studies you with those piercing eyes before he smiles, the expression unguarded.

"I don't need luck," he says. "And... thank you. For your help. And for the lovely drawing," he says, lifting up the charcoal doodle of him that you managed to complete. Cheeky bastard! He stole it from your sketchbook! "You have a good eye for details and a good memory for faces. Here's my number. I'll text you when I need your help on another case." He sweeps out, his long black coat fluttering behind him. You feel an idiotic grin spread across your face. Who knew that art class would be so rewarding?


	117. Teach Me, Watch Me- Riddell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Mutual masturbation with Riddell,  
> Requested by MofBaskerville:Oh. my. god. My ovaries now have halos and wings. PLEASE MAKE THIS HAPPEN!!! PLEASEEEEEEEEE!!!

It's been a marvelous three months since the ceremony, and you are just as happy now as you were on your wedding night. After a brilliant honeymoon, you both settle back down on the African plains, John with a whole new set of hunting rifles and knives, and you with an entirely new wardrobe (and not a corset in sight).

The sex is amazing; that goes without saying. You had known that it would be, but every time seems to feel a bit like your first. He is the perfect gentleman, always considerate of you and making sure you always take pleasure in the fun while still enjoying himself immensely; he's even taught you some new positions, and just last week, he helped instruct you on how to properly go down on a man... not an easy feat with his manhood excited to see you; afterwards, he held and kissed you while his fingers worked their magic. Somehow, he can almost always pull two climaxes from you (especially with his rough hands or his tongue), and it's really enjoyable to try and hold off on him; it makes him try harder and your orgasm is just that much more intense when you do finally let go.

Today, your husband brought down a lion, selling most of it in the nearby village and bringing you back one of its teeth as a talisman. You've got dinner ready for him when he returns as well as a kiss hello; food is soon forgotten as he all but drags you into the tent. John's always a little bit rougher after a long hunt or a particularly difficult kill, but tonight, as he unwraps you from your dress and shucks his own jacket and shirt into a pile on the ground, he purrs in your ear, "I want to watch you pleasure yourself for me tonight, my luv."

Your eyes widen as he captures your lips in a nearly desperate kiss. "I... but I..." You find yourself flushing brilliantly. "I don't know how to do that," you mumble. You know you shouldn't be embarrassed, but it's not something a 'proper young lady' does.

John catches the look in your eye and sighs. "The things they don't teach or encourage." He takes you in his arms and kisses you slowly, letting the intimacy of his hands and lips calm you and center you. When he breaks it, his lips trail to your ear. "You've seen and felt what I do with my fingers, correct?"

You nod, breathless.

"That's all there is to it. You just go with what _feels_ pleasurable... and it's marvelous to watch."

"Do I get a show as well, then?"

You manage to pull back in time to see your husband's brown eyes go almost black; his jodhpurs, boots, and pants are off in seconds, the hunter sauntering over to your wedding bed and sitting down, one hand stroking himself. You take a determined breath and join him, still feeling a bit self-conscious. John leans forward and helps maneuver you, spreading your legs so he can see your sex and murmuring for you to lean back a bit. You find the position both vulnerable and powerful, mostly because he is staring with a look that combines passion, hunger, and reverence; it's as if he cannot truly comprehend that you are his.

Slowly, biting your lip, you slide your hands down, amazed at how wet you are in anticipation of this. You let your right hand focus on your clit and your other work your folds, spreading them and grinning when your husband's eyes look like they might jump from his skull. Going by what he's done before, you fingers pinch and tug at the sensitive bud of nerves, pulling a startled gasp from your throat and making your other arm twitch, sliding your fingers inside your body.

It's a very odd sensation, realizing that you are working yourself open, but you also never knew that _you_ could give yourself this kind of pleasure, the kind that you associate only with your husband. You grow bolder, pumping two fingers in and out of your entrance, throwing your head back as you sink into the cot; your hips cant up slightly as your fingers move, and your body is twisting and writhing. You are completely lost in the fantasy, surrounded in your mind by Riddell, his fingers and cock teasing you, making you whimper and moan his name.

You hear a groan and manage to open your eyes, almost fainting at what you see. The hunter is wanking while watching you, clearly torn between just closing his eyes to listen to your voice and observing everything you do. You smirk and up your game, your moans a little louder, your fingers rougher until you feel the familiar coil of heat in your lower belly. With a cry, you come, shuddering and riding out your climax as best you can, shivering slightly as sweat begins to dry on your skin.

John groans your name only seconds later, but he doesn't sit still, staggering to his feet to clean up his hand and then bringing a damp flannel back to wash you down; he cleans your fingers off by popping them in his mouth, moaning as he sucks and licks them free of your juices. You whimper, curling up against him, aroused again even though you've just had an orgasm and wishing he'd put his mouth to work on you. He seems to latch onto your train of thought and kisses your cheek, chuckling.

"Soon enough, my luv. Can't do that on an empty stomach, though. I'll save it for dessert."


	118. Celebration- Jim and Seb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Sebastian licks champagne off of you as Jim pours it down your body, lots of cold/fizzy champagne vs. warm/wet mouth.

You're lounging on the couch in Jim's opulent flat when he sweeps in, clearly in a good mood. He has a bottle of expensive champagne in each hand. Seb is trailing in behind him, a grin stretched across his face.

"I take it the job went well, then?" you say, smiling and arching an eyebrow. Jim sets the champagne down on the counter and walks over to you, kissing you soundly.

"My sweet kitten, the job was _brilliant_. Just like me," he crows. You laugh; he's a cocky little bastard, and you love him for it. Seb chuckles.

"Yes, yes, all hail the brilliant James Moriarty. Now, let's get to that champagne," Seb says.

"Can I open a bottle?" you ask; you never have and you've always wanted to try. They smile and indulge you as you rush up to take one. It's a bit more difficult than it looks, and you finally manage to pop the cork with a -bang- that makes you jump. The bubbly wine fizzes out of the bottle and all over your hands.

"Damn!" you hiss softly, trying to stop it spilling. Seb is looking at you, his eyes dark.

"Here, let me help you with that," he murmurs, catching one hand in his and dragging his tongue across the palm, lapping up the champagne. You swallow hard, and Jim is looking at you both, his brown eyes blazing. A grin stretches across his face.

"I believe we have the perfect place to enjoy this. Tiger, to the bedroom," he orders. Seb grins and scoops you up, Jim trailing behind, the bottle in hand. You shriek and giggle as you wrap your arms around Seb's neck. He deposits you on the bed.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Strip her. We can't very well continue this if her clothes are on," Jim says, lounging in the chair close to the bed. Seb leers and does so, pulling your clothes off in record time, then taking care of his. Jim gets up and saunters over, his eyes dragging over you both. "Now, Tiger, you had a marvelous idea out there in the kitchen. I'm going to make a mess..." he lifts the champagne bottle slightly, "and _you're_ going to clean it up. How does that sound?" Seb groans low in his throat.

"Boss, that sounds fucking _delicious_." You wriggle with excitement on the bed and Jim chuckles.

"So _eager_ , Kitten. Although I don't blame you. With a tongue like Seb's, who wouldn't be?" he remarks. Slowly, he tips the champagne bottle, and a thin stream spills from it and lands on your skin. You cry out; it's _cold_! But that is soon fixed as Seb quickly bends and laps it up, the heat of his tongue a stark contrast to the chill of the liquid.

The more Jim pours, the more eager Seb gets; you begin to see love-bites blossom in the oddest places: between your breasts, along your ribs. You let out a moan as Seb laps up the champagne that's pooled at your navel in long, rough strokes. He suckles the skin there, making you arch beneath him. Sitting up and back on his heels, he snags the bottle from Jim and takes a swig, then bends down to kiss you. You accept the kiss, and make a noise of surprise; he's passed you a mouthful of champagne, warmed by his lips and tongue. You taste it on him as you twine your fingers in his hair and he straddles you, breaking free of your mouth to trail down your throat. Jim sets the bottle down after swiping it back from Seb, then he kneels beside the bed, his mouth close to your ear.

"You love this, don't you? He's going to fuck you, and I'm going to _watch_. And talk to you, of course. I know how much you love to hear me talk. Whispering filthy things into your ear, making you writhe and arch and burn," he murmurs. You buck upward, desperate for a touch, anything. Seb grins and begins to tease you with his cock, rubbing just the tip along your folds. Jim smirks.

"Oh, such a naughty Tiger, teasing the Kitten..." he whispers, his voice laden with mocking sympathy. "Go on, Tiger. Kitten's been _good_. She needs a reward." Seb groans and thrusts into you. You gasp; he's so _big_ , and he's foregone the condom this time; you can feel him hard and hot inside of you. You grab at him, pulling him closer to you. Jim chuckles. "Such an _eager_ little chit you are," he purrs. You can vaguely see him palming the bulge of his arousal in his trousers. "Put those hands to work, love. Come on... stroke me," he says, standing and undoing his zip, pulling his cock out. You wrap your fingers around him and begin to tug, matching the movements of Seb's thrusts inside you.

He hisses as he feels your grip on him. "Oooh, yesss, Kitten. That's it. Such clever fingers you have," he purrs, hips thrusting slightly into your hand. Seb is grunting as he works inside you; he bends down to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples, causing you to cry out and squeeze Jim in surprise. The criminal moans at the pressure, then bends and works on the other one. You feel like you're going mad; their tongues are doing insane things and Seb's cock is just perfect. The larger man is the first to remove his mouth, though.

"You're so wet and tight, love," he murmurs into your ear. "Feeling you stretched around me is like a sweet madness; I can't get enough. I want to pound into you, hear you _scream_..." He thrusts in hard with that last word, and you _do_ scream. You climax in a blaze of heat and light, their names upon your lips. Seb hisses and thrusts twice more before he pulls out and comes hard, all over your stomach. You're still stroking Jim, although you can feel him start to twitch and swell in your hand.

"That's it, Kitten... almost there," he pants. You add an extra squeeze and that does it for him; he climaxes with curses and praises both, adding his ejaculate to your skin, across your chest. Both men move back, all of you panting, to admire their handiwork.

"Such a pretty picture that makes," Jim muses. Seb makes a noise of agreement before he fetches a flannel to clean you up with.

"You know what? I think we should bring champagne home more often. But next time... let's try it with Scotch," the sniper says. You all laugh as you pass the bottle around. After all, there's still another one left in the kitchen in case they want to go again...


	119. Ways of Making you Talk- Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by SandEm: Definitely need a sequel to this! The British Government has ways of making you talk!
> 
> Requested by sexandthesitting: Mycroft, sub, a vibrator and him being called fuckslut???  
> *dies*  
> Yes definitely need to see Mycroft get his revenge!

Three weeks later, you walk into your flat, shrug out of your coat and drop your keys in the bowl only to have a blindfold tied securely over your eyes and your wrists seized before you can tear it off. You feel panic rising in your throat until, "Now then, _slut_. You and I need to have a little chat, don't you think?"

Your mouth goes dry, and you nod.

"You will address me as 'sir' or 'master', slut, and the safeword is 'tart'. You speak when spoken to, and if you resist questioning... then you shall have to be _punished_. Am. I. _Understood_?"

"Y-yes, Master."

"Good." Your boyfriend drags you through the flat into one of the rooms (you think it's the bedroom, but it might very well be his in-home office. He shoves you into a chair, binding your wrists to the hard, wooden arms.

"Now that I have you secure," he growls, standing and walking around you, "I have a few things I want to know, and you're going to tell me."

You fight the urge not to talk back, but he has to know that you can't keep it up for long.

"Firstly... who hired you to pull that little stunt with the heels and crop?"

"N-no one hired me, sir."

"Hmmm..." His mouth his at your ear; he's behind you. "I don't believe you, slut. Someone had to send you. You aren't that clever-"

"No, but Sherlock is."

The words are out before you can stop them, and Mycroft _growls_. "You little _harlot_." You hear him grab something, and the next second he is cutting your clothes off you: blouse, jeans, bra, knickers, even your socks wind up in ribbons on the floor, baring you to the chill air of the room. "I'm far superior to my brother in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

Again, your stupid, big mouth. "Really? I thought the younger siblings always surpassed the older ones."

The scissors clatter to his desk (yeah, definitely the office), and the next thing Mycroft does is stretch your legs open, binding them to the chair firmly so you can't move at all. Then you hear the swish before you feel the sting, the smack of leather on your skin echoing in the room.

"A little bitch like you deserves a good beating. Aren't you just so lucky that I happen to know how?"

Oh God. _Payback's a bitch_... Whatever this is, you are going to love and fear it for certain.

The crop hits seemingly at random: your arms, legs, belly, across your breasts; he uses the tip to abuse your nipples until they are rock hard and aching. Then he trails the leather end down to your sex, stroking you teasingly.

"Getting off on the pain? On being abused and subdued? Has the fearless chit who fancies herself a dominatrix gone soft?"

The next smack is on your breasts again, and the wet leather _stings_. You hiss, struggling to breathe through your nose, remembering that you have the safeword at any time... but you want to see where he's going with this.

The crop finds its way back to your sex, pressing against your entrance this time, and you gasp. It feels foreign and strange, not at all the shape you expect or are used to. He doesn't insert it very far, but he starts pumping the part that is inside you very fast, giving you a very different stimulation than you've had before. The stick part of the crop is thin, but coupled with the leather pad on the end... you're gasping and moaning in the chair.

"Such a wanton little slut... aching for anything I give you. But, what I give, I can also take away." Mycroft pulls the crop out, smacking your thighs with it. "Who owns you?"

"Y-you do, Master."

"And who gives the orders?" Two more smacks, just above your clit. Fucking tease.

"You do... _you_ do, Master."

"That's right. Now... who do you serve?"

"I serve... I serve my Master. Thank you for taking care of a bad sub, Master. I deserve to be punished."

"Yes you do." He presses the damp end of the crop to your clit, rubbing and stimulating the nerves until you feel your could melt and sink to the floor. It's fantastic and excellent and you're going to come-

" _Not yet_ ," Mycroft hisses, removing the tool and smacking your nipples. You cry out, your body sensitive, your sex aching. "You ambush me when I return from work, apply your own methods of torture... you mention my brother... you deserve to be left wanting, little slut."

Your eyes are watering under the blindfold as you lose yourself completely in the situation. "Please... _please_ Master... I'll never do it again. I swear it, Master."

"Are you _sure_?"

" _Yes_ , Master."

There is silence in the room for several minutes, and you want desperately to ask if he's still there, so when you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs, you jump and whimper, startled.

"You're going to come for me, slut. You're going to scream my name and forget everyone else. Understand?"

" _Yes_ , Master."

Your boyfriend drops his mouth and fingers to you, working you quickly into a frenzy. You barely have any time to warn him before you come, crying his name to the room... but he doesn't stop. Mycroft rides out your climax and brings you over a second time. You slump in the chair, body twitching... and then his fingers are back inside you, pumping and curling, his thumb rubbing relentlessly against your clit.

"No... oh please... oh Master... oh god MYCROFT!!!!"

A third orgasm tears through you, and before you've come down, he's cut through the ropes and brought you into his lap, the blindfold going in the floor. You're shaking from the force of it all, but he's warm and comforting, holding you gently.

" _Very_ well done, my darling. I'm proud of you... once you got over being a snarky little thing you did quite nicely."

You give a weak giggle. "Th-thank you... Master."


	120. Listen to Him Speak- Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by bronwenblossom: Um, would it be possible for a dominant Moriarty and submissive female, please? And it would be wonderful if it had heaps of dirty talk... Like, a crazy amount of dirt talk.... I'm sure you'll do a lovely job of it, you're a brilliant writer! Thanks for being so fantastic!
> 
> Requested by XenonTheShapeChanger: I dont know if this is a common request or if you already did it, but dom!Jim or dom!Sherlock with loooooots of dirty talk/toys would be nice...  
> Amazing job with all these requests! Your writing only gets better!

You're spread and bound to the bed, bare as the day you were born save for the blindfold. You can hear your Master walking around, looking at you, _observing_ you, but not touching. No, no touching, not yet. The anticipation is both delicious and dreadful; you can feel your sex grow slick with the thought of just what he's going to do to you. You can almost hear the smirk on his face as he stops, somewhere off to your left.

"Aren't you such a wanton slut; I haven't even done anything yet, and you're _dripping_ ," he remarks, that Irish brogue sounding like sin and silk. "I fancy I could get you off like this, pet. Just by _talking_. You'd like that, wouldn't you? My pretty little _whore_." You writhe a bit and arch, the words stinging so beautifully, making you feel ashamed but aroused.

He pauses and you feel the dip in the mattress as he sits beside you on the bed. You start slightly as you feel his breath brush your ear. "I think I shall. So, what should I talk about? My job? The weather? How I want to punish you with my cock until you scream?" he murmurs. That makes you whimper and he chuckles, low and dark. "You'd like that, wouldn't you. Feeling me inside you, pounding into you roughly, digging my nails into your hips as you buck against me..." You gasp and pull a bit on the ropes, wanting to close your legs to bring yourself some friction, anything to bring some relief to the sweet torture he's giving you. Your struggles bring about a reprimand in the form of the sharp whistle and sting of the crop on your legs.

"No, no, pet, we can't have that, now can we?" he says. "No closing your legs. I like seeing you open for me; your wetness shining on your folds, begging for me, for my touch, for my cock. I love to see how long I can deny you, how much you want it, how long it will take before you _plead_ for me."

You whine, asking for him without words. He chuckles. "So eager, little pet, my little toy. So wanting me to fill you. You're a greedy little slut, always wanting me to fuck you; you'd do this all day if I let you, hm? And if I didn't satisfy you myself, you'd use your own hands, your fingers, filling you up. Making you gasp and arch as you touch yourself, thinking about me, wishing it was _me_ instead. Isn't that right?"

"Yes... Yes, Master!" you pant, breathless. You're so aroused that your head is spinning and you can feel your wetness dripping on to the sheets.

"Should I do it, then? Should I give you relief? Should I fuck you, since you want it so badly? Let me hear you _beg_ ," he demands.

"Please, Master! Oh please, please... fuck me..." you plead, your words tremulous with the strength of your need.

You hear the quiet rasp as he lowers his zip. "I suppose I can... after all, you've been such a good little fuckslut... such a pretty mewling quim," he hisses as he rubs his arousal along your dripping folds. You arch and cry out, feeling tears leak from underneath the blindfold. He laughs at the sight of them. "You want me so much that you're _crying_. How... _sweet_." And he rams into you, filling you with short, sharp strokes, grunting as he moves. His hands grip your hips roughly, holding you so hard that you know there will be bruises.

"Come for me, my pet, my whore. Sing my name as you break," he murmurs into your ear. You get shoved off the edge, crying his name, making the room ring with your exultations. He roars as he follows you over, filling you with his seed. He pants as he pulls out of you, gently undoing your bonds and blindfold, allowing your arms and legs relax as he presses gentle kisses to your sweat-slick forehead. "Marvelously played, my pet," he says quietly. You smile at his praise.

"Thank you, Jim," you murmur, feeling him leak out of you. He smirks to see you so sated.

"Don't get too comfortable; I'll be paying you a visit later," he promises darkly. You shiver; you can't wait.


	121. Still A Rebel- Greg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Lestrades_Lady: Okay, I still haven't seen any tattooed Lestrade yet! *taps foot impatiently* :)

It has to be the hottest fucking day _ever_ in London. You can barely drag yourself out of bed to see if the power has come back to give you the small mercy of air conditioning (it hasn't... buggerall), so you stumble into the kitchen and pull a ice pop from the freezer, the cold treat probably the only breakfast you can keep down at this point. You jump slightly when your mobile goes off, but the caller ID makes you smile. "Hey there, sexy."

"Well, well, good morning. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No, I can't bloody _relax_. It is _so_ damn hot, Greg."

"I can't fix the power and trust me, I've tried... but I think I can help you cool off."

You raise an eyebrow; you've only been dating the DI for about three weeks now, so you haven't even slept together yet. "And what might that be?"

"Open the door and find out."

A squeal of excitement bursts from your mouth and you dart for the door, half dressed with a melting ice pop in your hand as you reveal Greg Lestrade. He's in shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, showing off his arms. You give him a very appreciative once over and a smirk... until your eyes alight on his shoulder. "You never told me you have a tattoo."

He raises an eyebrow, shutting the door behind him and setting the beers he brought on the kitchen counter. "Yeah, got it as a rebel teenager, thought my Dad was gonna kill me."

"Can I?"

"Sure."

You reach your, your fingers ghosting over the edges; of all the things he could have gotten, he has a pair of handcuffs with the caption, "I Fought the Law" on his upper left shoulder. "Do your colleagues at work know you have this? I can see your supervisor getting upset about it."

Greg just gives you a cocky grin. "I'm good at what I do, and I didn't want to laser it off. Helps remind me of where I was and how far I've come."

"Oh? And tell me... just how far _have_ you come?" You don't have a clue how you can be this horny when it's so hot you could fry an egg on the kitchen counter. When Greg doesn't answer, you start to ask again, but he just takes your hand in his... your ice pop covered hand.

"Oh _shit_!"

"Allow me." And, right there in your sauna-like flat, Greg starts licking your hand clean. Your brain short circuits, your eyes rolling back and a soft moan escaping your lips. Greg kisses his way up your arm to your mouth, his lips sticky and sweet and _cold_ on yours. The kiss doesn't last long because he pulls away in favor of tugging on your ear. "I could use a shower right now... and you'll need another one soon... so what say we cool you down first?"

You nod, letting him drag you through to the bathroom. He turns on the faucet, letting cold water fill the tub as he strips you. Your sweaty pajamas end up in a corner where his shirt joins them, but as he takes off his shorts and pants, you start kissing his tattoo, running your tongue along the edge and grinning when he groans.

" _Fuck_ ," he growls, pulling you in for another kiss; it tastes sweet and salty, and his tongue is doing things that you've never experienced before. He clearly pulls out all the stops when really aroused.

Greg breaks the kiss to shut the water off, lifting you up and setting you down in the water. You shriek and curse, thrashing a bit. "JESUSFUCKINGHELLIT'SCOLD!!!"

He starts laughing and sits on the edge of the tub. "I'd join you, but cold water doesn't agree with this." He gestures to his erection where it bobs between his legs. You can't help but stare, taking in that he's definitely a bit thicker than you've had in the past. He catches you looking and smirks, kissing your temple and then your ear. "Want a taste?"

You don't wait another second. Going up on your knees in the cold water, you lean forward and suck him into your mouth, chuckling as he hisses. " _Fuck,_ your lips are cold."

You add your hand to the mix, stroking and squeezing to keep him hard, your lips warming up as you bob in his lap. After a few minutes, you pull off and dunk your face in the tub, coming up dripping with cold water and swallowing him down again. Greg's hand twists in your hair, tugging as a warning. "N-not coming... like this..."

You pull off slowly, staring up with swollen lips and lidded eyes. "Is that right?" You step from the tub and lay out a towel on the floor, instructing him to lay down. No sooner has he obeyed than you straddle him and sink onto his arousal, the combination of cold skin and tight heat making him curse and growl; you whimper as he stretches you, taking a few seconds to get used to his size. His hands grasp your hips and you press your lips to his tattoo again as you begin to ride him.

He takes control fairly quickly, driving up with abandon, your cooled skin meeting his heated flesh. Your tongue trails to his nipples from the ink, sucking on them hard, and you can't help but grin; your boyfriend is losing himself completely, giving you as much pleasure as he is getting. You grind against him harder, encouraging him, begging him for more.

Greg doesn't falter. He rolls over, pinning you on the towel and letting lose, fucking you as hard as he can manage. You shriek and scrabble at his back, leaving thin red lines in your wake. Not long after, he tweaks your clit and you climax, sobbing his name and pulling him over the edge. Greg shudders and fills you, taking slow, deep breaths to try and calm down.

Slowly, he reaches up and drains the water, waiting until it is gone to pull out and lift you back into the tub. He gets in with you and pulls the curtain. "How about we clean you up properly now? Get all of the sticky off your body?"

"Greg, you can get me as sticky as you want _anytime_."


	122. Just a Part- Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Startwiththeridingcrop: I was thinking its set after the fall, you used to be in 'Richard's' acting class (obv. it was Jim just playing Richard) and you spot him in the street, Jim invites the reader back to his place and reintroduces himself as Moriarty?

You've been in this acting class for about two months now, and you really like your classmates, especially Rich Brook. He's a real sweet guy, very sincere, and a wonderful actor. You've been assigned as his partner for the last two weeks, so you've gotten to know him pretty well... or so you think. About a week after your final class together, you run into Rich in the street. He doesn't look very much like the man you know from the acting class, though; there's something... _different_ about him, but you start talking despite that tinge of unease.

"Rich! So good to see you!" you exclaim, smiling. He cocks his head, as if he's trying to figure out who you are. Then his eyes light up.

"Ah! Sorry, had a bit of a moment there," he says after saying your name. "Listen, my flat isn't too far from here; d'you want a quick cuppa?" You blush. You have a bit of a crush on him, with his sweet smiles and that rich Irish brogue.

"Yeah, I'd like that," you say. He smiles and takes your arm, pulling you along. The apartment he shows you makes your jaw drop: penthouse suite, opulent furnishings and state of the art technology, not like the down-on-his-luck, out of work student that he said he was.

"Wow... this... Rich, this is impressive," you say. He starts laughing, and there's something unsettling about it. "...Rich?" you ask, wondering what's so funny. When he looks at you, his face has changed.

"There _is_ no Rich. It's Jim. Jim Moriarty. Hiiii," he says, a wide shark's grin spread across his face, his eyes harder, more predatory. He advances and you retreat, his hands in the pockets of that elegant, expensive suit. "So... now you see the _real_ man," he murmurs, a hairsbreadth from you as your back hits the wall. You swallow hard. Your mind is going haywire, saying 'GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT' but there's a darker part of it that's woken up, one that is uncurling and stalking the cage of your skull; it wants to see where this will go, it's attracted to this man in front of you, with the brilliant lies and the death's-head grin. He trails a finger down your neck, across your pulse point to rest in the hollow of your throat.

"I always noticed the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't paying attention. You want me, don't you?" he asks. You nod; lying to him just strikes you as a bad idea. He chuckles. "Such a good little girl... I want you too, want you underneath me, crying out as I pound into you," he whispers into your ear, causing your eyes to flutter shut and your heartbeat to speed up. He bends to your mouth, claiming your lips with his own, his stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your face. He winds his fingers into your hair and pulls, forcing your head to tilt back, allowing him greater access to your throat.

Your arms wind around his neck, resting against his shoulders. He growls and pushes closer to you; you feel the length of his arousal pressing against your thigh and that makes the space between your legs heat and you arch into him. He breaks the kiss and releases the grip he has on your hair.

"Now then, little girl, let's take this to a more appropriate setting... unless you _want_ me to take you right here, against the door," he says, smirking. You shake your head, panting, your lips swollen from the forceful kiss. He chuckles and leads you through the flat to the bedroom; another opulently furnished setting, with a large bed: silk sheets and blood-red pillows, a black duvet that hangs over the sides and pools on the floor. He shoves you gently on to it, tugging at your clothes. You sit up to help him with your shirt, kicking off your shoes as he drags it over your head, then you unclasp and discard your bra. You stand to wriggle your way out of your jeans and knickers, bare before him. His dark eyes devour you, a smile playing about his lips. He starts to undo the buttons on his shirt after he sets the expensive jacket aside.

"You really do want me, don't you?" he asks, grinning. "So _eager_ for me..." He works his way out of his clothes quicker than you thought possible, setting them to the side as he walks forward, his cock bobbing between his legs. You back up on the bed until you hit the headboard. He drags you to him to kiss you again, his hands at your breasts, tweaking and rolling your nipples in his fingers. You arch up into him, moaning softly. With one hand still occupied with your chest, the other slips down between your legs, finding you wet and ready for him. He chuckles. "You really _are_ wanton," he says. Then with one smooth motion, he has you face-down on the bed, before raises you up to your hands and knees.

"I'm going to fuck you from behind, like an animal. That's what you want, isn't it? Let your base nature take over..." he trails the head of his arousal along your slick folds as he talks, and you nod, not trusting your tongue. " _Good_ ," he snarls, and he slides into you in one swift motion. You keen as he fills you, stretching your walls as he groans. "God, you're so hot and _tight_ ," he hisses. Then he begins to move, using rough, hard strokes. He winds one hand in your hair and places the other on your hip to steady himself. Slowly, he moves you so that your face is pressed against the mattress, your rear in the air and presented to him as he takes you. The hand on your hip moves around so that its clever fingers are stimulating your clit. You can feel yourself winding up to the end and you fall as he sinks his teeth hard into your shoulder, marking you as his; you cry out and clench and spasm around him, causing Jim to groan as he swells and spurts inside of you, coating your insides with his come. He slides out of you, panting, giving you a swift smack on the arse that causes you to jump. He flashes you a quicksilver grin.

"Here's my number; I'll text you when I need you again... and I _will_ ," he purrs into your ear after you clean yourself up and get dressed. You swallow. You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into... and you can't be bothered to care.


	123. Very Large Weapon- Riddell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: I have to say, I'd love to see the reader learning to suck Riddell's cock. Sucking cock is incredibly good fun, lots of gagging at first but once you find your depth limit, it's delightful good times. Watching a guy lose it is incredible.

Life is starting to settle into a normal, easy pattern for you and your husband; you still grin when you think of John like that, as your husband and not a fiancé or a lover. He's out hunting and setting traps today while you stay at the tent, your thin, lightweight and _unrestricting_ dress floating around you in the warm breeze. You miss him terribly when he's gone for long hours like this, but he is very deliberate about making your nights as memorable as possible. You sleep in each other's arms every night and have sex at least once a day when you can; he's discovered some "frankly alarming gaps in your sexual education" which he has set about working to rectify one step at a time, so part of why you want him to return so badly is because you don't know what he will propose for the evening's activities.

You're just putting the finishing touches on the stew when you hear his footsteps. Smiling, you stand and greet him with the customary 'Hello' kiss. Riddell dips you today before taking your mouth, groaning against your lips while you wrap your arms around his neck. "Good evening, my desert flower," he murmurs, kissing your ear and helping you back upright. "And dinner smells delicious. Did you miss me?"

"Always, my love," you reply, serving up the stew and sitting by his side to watch the sunset. He tells you about his day, describing the lion he's currently tracking and hoping to bring down in the next week or so. You listen attentively, your hand absently stroking his thigh through some of his explanations. John takes your hand after a bit and laces your fingers together, lifting them to his mouth and kissing the back of your hand. "You've been so patient today. Tonight... _tonight_ I'm going to teach you how to give oral."

Your eyes widen a little, daunted at the prospect; he sees your concern and kisses you gently, his mouth easily helping calm your nerves. Still kissing you, Riddell leads you into the tent and sits on the camp stool, his legs spread. He helps you to kneel before him and runs his hands through your hair.

"Now... unlace my boots and set them aside. It will make it easier to have them off." Nodding, you untie the laces and gently tug the hiking boots from Riddell's feet, pulling his socks off as well. Once that's done, he brings you up gently for another kiss, guiding your hands to his jodhpurs. "These next, my luv."

Blushing, you unbutton them, and he stands so you can tug them and his pants off, setting them with his boots; your husband is now bare from the waist down, half hard as he sits and spreads his legs once more.

"All right. So, the trick with anything of this sort is to discover what your partner enjoys and to exploit it to the fullest, but for now, why don't you start with your hand, get me nice and hard for you, hmm?"

Still bright pink, you reach out and slowly stroke him, unsure of exactly what to do; he's usually fully erect by the time you get to the sex, and he takes charge... he's not asked you to get him there before.

"Just like that... you can squeeze it a bit too, it won't bite... not like _I_ can, of course."

Giggling and remembering a particularly vivid evening where you'd had the most marvelous bruise on your neck from his talented mouth, you stroke him a bit more firmly but still taking your time, learning the heated flesh in your hand, and before you know it, he's fully hard and dripping. You glance up to his face and see the smile of approval in his eyes and on his lips.

"Now, my luv, when you're taking your time, use just your tongue first, well, your tongue and your lips to kiss and lick at it. Eventually, you'll be taking it in your mouth.

"It... it's rather _big_ for that, isn't it?"

His brown eyes go _dark_ , nearly as black as the nighttime sky in Africa. "Yes it is... and how I'd _love_ to see your gorgeous lips wrapped around it."

Shivering, your own sex aching slightly at the drop in his voice, you press your palms to his thighs and lean in, your tongue darting out to taste his arousal. You spend several moment acquainting it with your mouth, amazed at the different textures, so different from the skin elsewhere on his body; you get a thrill of excitement at the thought of doing something that is seemingly a forbidden and rather dirty act, but John's moans and growls of approval only spur you on. You want his approval, and you want to learn to do this well for him, especially if he likes it.

"N-now... take the tip in y-your mouth. The tip I'll give you here is suck, lick, and swallow."

You nod and shift slightly to give yourself a better position on your knees before wrapping your lips around his cock and taking him into your mouth. It's a bit awkward at first, you have to be very aware of your teeth, and your jaw is already starting to ache (seriously, the man is hung like one of the animals he hunts), and you manage to get him at least halfway in before it feels like too much. He notices the look on your face instantly.

"There, stop... okay... we can work on that... but wrap your hand around the rest- _that's_ a girl. You can stimulate- _ah_!- j-just like that... and the only thing left is for you to move up and down on it. G-go on." He's a bit red in the face, and his brow is breaking out in a slight sheen of sweat. Clearly this turns him on way more than he cared to admit before.

It's all a bit much to grasp at first, so you take things one at a time. You start with getting a rhythm going with your hand, squeezing and twisting it before adding in the motion of your head, your mouth sliding up and down on the swollen flesh. The taste is slightly bitter and salty, but it's also just so _John_ that you soon lose yourself in it and in the act of what you're doing.

Once you get the hang of it, you add in movements of your tongue and sucking, and he bucks into your mouth when you do that, nearly choking you, but you swiftly recover and do it again, smirking up at him through your eyelashes. It's marvelous to watch him come completely undone just with your mouth and hand. You had no idea you could do this to him at all.

Just when you think your jaw is going to cramp, his breathing shallows and his hands find purchase in your hair; you have hardly any warning before he comes, groaning your name and filling your mouth with his release. Startled and unsure of what to do, you swallow, some of it trickling out of the corner of your mouth. His cock goes limp and slips out from between your swollen lips, the hunter sinking back on the stool and panting hard. When he opens his eyes and gets a good look at you, he drags you up into his lap with a groan and kisses you soundly, his tongue invading your mouth and seeming to taste every inch that had just been filled by him.

John picks you up easily and carries you over to the cot, sitting you in his lap with your back against his chest. He kisses you again, the passion and fire building as his hands slide down your body and press against your sex through your bloomers. You arch into his touch, your moan swallowed easily into his body. He manages to tug the fabric down and off your body, and you wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder, your fingers playing with his hair while his explore your sex, toying with you until you can't stand it any longer and beg.

"Please... _please_ , John... please, my love..."

He sucks your tongue into his mouth at the same time that his fingers breach you, curling, pumping, stretching, pressing into your body as far as they will go. One of his hands is working on your clit to the point of ecstasy, your climax tearing through you with a scream. He chuckles, breaking from your lips to kiss your face and neck, his hands continuing to work their magic.

The only sounds you can make now are moans: his name, begging for more, pleading for him to stop torturing you, but always his name. It's a prayer, a supplication on your lips as he fucks you with his fingers, and even though you struggle to hold out, to deny yourself the release, he's far too clever for that, sucking on the weak spot of your neck as he tweaks your clit and you come a second time; you see stars, shrieking his name and praises to the heavens and sinking back against him.

John sucks his fingers clean and kisses you again, gently, before stripping you and helping you into your nightshift. He also dresses for bed and curls up around you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder, and saying what he always says before you sleep.

"May your dreams be sweet while I protect you, and you'll wake safe and whole in the morning, my luv."


	124. Shhh- Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Jen: While researching a case in the library, books aren't the only things being checked out - but we have to be very quiet... shh.

You're in the library, helping Sherlock for a case, something about searching for a certain algorithm that would unlock a cipher and bring to light just _who_ murdered the groundskeeper of a very eccentric billionaire (you thought that the butler did it, but Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered something about clichés ruining any intelligent life on the planet). You aren't complaining; you've always loved books and libraries, losing yourself for hours at a time in the comfort of the stacks and the hushed, ink and dust scented air. You pore through one book, the Greek symbols and numbers dizzying to your eyes. You blink and look again. You may not hold his powers of observation and deduction, but if you're not mistaken, you've just found the algorithm that Sherlock so desperately needs.

"Sherlock!" you call in a hushed whisper to him. He's three aisles over and he pokes his curly head around the side. You can't help but bound up to him, eyes shining. "I think I found it!" You thrust the book into his hands and point at the characters that form the equation in question. He studies it, brow furrowed with intense concentration. Then he breaks into one of those rare, wide smiles.

"You did! You found it! We can break the cipher and catch the murderer. Hah!" he exclaims triumphantly. You can't say what moved you to do it, whether it be the moment of victory or the fact that he just looked so _happy_ , but you pull his head down to yours using the lapels of his great Belstaff coat and kiss him soundly. He pauses for the briefest of seconds before returning it, his leather-gloved hands hastily setting the book down and cupping your head, holding you closer to him. He backs you up so that you're against a bookshelf, and you wind your arms around his neck. When you break the kiss to get some air, both of you are panting and flushed. His brilliant blue-green eyes are wild and dark as he takes in your kiss-stung lips and heaving chest. He groans and kisses you again, this time his hands holding on to your hips. What he says next in that rich voice of his nearly has you melting into a puddle on the floor.

"I want you so badly..."

You nod hastily, then the two of you are tugging at each other's clothing in a frenzy. He's scrabbling with your skirt and you're grabbing at the zip of his trousers. He pauses to rip the close-fitting leather gloves off his hands using his teeth, and that makes you moan out loud. He stops and covers your mouth with one of his large, long-fingered hands.

"Shhhh," he whispers into your ear, causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps, "library. We need to be _quiet_." You nod, but he doesn't remove your hand, which makes you burn for him all the more. You manage to undo his zip and you reach inside and grasp his arousal, squeezing gently. He swallows a groan and moves his hands so that both of them are supporting your arse as he lifts you up and rests your back against one of the sturdier bookshelves, your legs linking around his hips. When he's satisfied that you're secure, he moves your knickers to one side and takes out his erection, rubbing the head of his cock along your slick folds. You tilt your head back and stifle a whimper, arching into him, silently begging him to take you. He understands your wordless plea and sinks into you, hissing through clenched teeth as you envelop him in your heat and tightness. Slowly he begins to move, taking you with deep, smooth thrusts. You wind your fingers into his black curls and tug, spurring him on as you buck against him. His fingers are digging into your hips as he pushes and pulls you, finding that perfect rhythm that has you both at the edge in moments. He growls low in his chest as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck and shoulder, taking in your scent, and that makes you fall over in a flash of light and a noiseless scream of his name. You draw him tightly to you, shaking and clenching around him as he pounds into you a few more times, your release triggering his, making him spill into you. He sets you down, the both of you panting as you readjust your respective articles of clothing. He snags the book and you check it out (he's never bothered with getting a library card). As you leave, the librarian calls after you.

"For future reference... the erotica section is _downstairs_. You might want to try there next time." Your eyes go wide and your face burns with embarrassment. Sherlock merely smirks.

"I do believe we have another section to peruse, then," he murmurs into your ear as you both wait for a cab. You swallow and simply nod. It seems that your library card would be seeing far greater use, and soon.


	125. The Girl Under the Desk- Greg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MrsJohndontcallmeMaryWatson: I want to see a fic where Lestrade is getting a bj at his desk while his officers are giving a briefing. Maybe one of them knows what's going on but they can't see anything? I would say put Sherlock there but he'll know everything!

"Come _on_ , Greg-"

"Are you crazy? I can't let you-"

"What? Can't let me help you out with _this_?"

"Guhhh... n-no-"

"No? Do I detect some weakness, _sir_?"

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and tries very hard to stay standing and refuse what you're offering... despite the very large bulge in his trousers.

" _No_. Anderson and Donovan are about to give a debriefing of the latest case-"

"Perfect. You don't want to be at your desk with a stiffy while having to listen to Fucking Anderson, do you?"

That seems to do the trick; the DI relents with a very resigned sigh. "All right. But get under there before they show up."

"Then in your chair and trousers down. And don't you dare kick me or I'll bite."

Greg groans and glances at the door, quickly undoing his belt and zip and shoving his pants and trousers to his ankles before sitting in his chair while you curl up underneath his desk, positioning yourself so that you're right between his legs when he scoots the chair in. Still grinning, you lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, giggling as he fights back a moan. "Now now, officer, no noise. Mustn't alert the enemy."

Your boyfriend is about to retort when there's a knock at the door. "Come _in_ ," he says instead, choking slightly on the last word as you swallow him down as far as you can, your hand wrapped around his base. You can hear Anderson and Donovan walk in and throw a folder on Lestrade's desk, but once the slimeball begins to speak, you tune the other coppers out, focusing on taking your boyfriend apart with your mouth.

Greg manages fairly well for the first few minutes until you manage to suppress your gag reflex just long enough for his tip to hit the back of your throat and you swallow, just once; you hear his hands hit the desk and his breathing hitch.

"Are you all right, Greg?" Sally. Bitch.

" _Yeah_... just fine... haven't sleep lately is all."

"You look a bit peaky, sir-"

"I'm _fine_ , Donovan, really. It's nothing im _portant_!"

"You just did it again." Fucking Anderson, god, shut up.

"Leg cramp, need to get it checked out. Now, if you two are finished-"

"No, there are a few more minor details we have to tell you."

Grinning as best you can (you really love Greg's cock, especially when he's hard like this for you), you resume sucking on his arousal, pulling off to lap at the head and swirl your tongue around the heated flesh. You then take great pleasure in treating his cock like an ice pop, holding the base steady and licking up to the head and back down; your boyfriend is steadily losing it, having more and more difficulty in not only keeping a straight face but also with sitting still. There are longer pauses in Anderson and Donovan's debriefing, and you slow down to just gently sucking on the head of his erection long enough for him to dismiss them.

As soon as he gives that order, you suck him down as hard as he'll go and reach down to play with his sac, sending him over the edge. The other officers are still in the room when he comes, filling your mouth, his hands gripping the desk so hard his knuckles turn white and the DI biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. You gently clean him up and release him, smiling to yourself.

"Did... was that..."

"Greg, did you just-"

"Dunno what you mean. I _think_ I said that'd be _all_."

You're barely able to keep from laughing as they leave, the door closing behind them. You crawl out from under the desk looking very pleased with yourself. "Well?"

Greg straightens himself up, fixing his trousers and shirt before pulling you in for a very rough and dirty kiss. "I think it's time for a little interrogation," he growls in your ear.


	126. Wearing the Trousers- Riddell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: wearing Riddell's clothes to be more comfy in Africa and he gets super turned on by it; ...some aspect of the all the stars and the amazing night sky in Africa would be cool with Riddell. I imagine it must be like some kind of magical otherworldly feeling with that enormous sky above you.

Another sweltering day in the African summer has you lying on your cot in the tent and wishing for rain; the only problem with this plan is that since it is so hot, it's the perfect day to do the laundry, and seeing as the only thing you had left clean is now covered in mud, you need something to wear in order to go outside and actually take the washing down to the river. You still are questioning the intelligence of your idea when you don your husband's clothes. At this point, you've helped him undress enough times that you know how it all works, fits, and goes together, and after about five minutes, you're standing in the tent, marveling.

His clothes are a little loose on you, yes, but you, if anything, feel _freer_ than you have before. You can move faster in his jodhpurs than in your dresses without fear of tripping over the fabric. Grinning, you dart from the tent and run in a circle, a whoop of pure joy escaping you into the air. Still smiling, you retrieve the laundry hamper and grab one of John's hats, piling your hair on top of your head so that it's all trapped by the hat, the brim keeping the sun off your face and neck. Finally ready, you make your way to the river and return with the dry washing in the early afternoon.

You start wondering what your husband will say to your outfit as the sun begins to set lower in the sky, signaling the end of the day while you make supper. You've just taken the stew off the fire when he arrives. "Evening, darling," you say to greet him, standing. "Can I get you anything?"

John glances up and nearly drops his hunting gear, staring; well, gaping is probably a better word. You can't stop smirking, sauntering forward and swaying your hips, even more pronounced now that you're wearing _his_ trousers. "This male is a fine specimen; he's come to the watering hole for a drink and a meal, but he has no idea what's waiting for him," you murmur, leaning in just enough to tease before backing away, narrating his actions just as he has for you with all his stories of hunting.

He shakes his head slightly as if to clear it, and makes his way into the tent to set his things down. "Ohhh, the mighty African Hunter cleans up after a hard day of tracking his prey, but look! Here comes the Victorian lass, quite the deadly adversary for the African Hunter. Just when he least expect it... she _pounces_."

Your husband is ready with a smirk of his own when he turns and catches you as you launch yourself into his arms, hooking your ankles around his waist and draping your arms about his neck. His hands travel down your ribs and rest on your hips before sliding back to cop a very obvious feel of your bum. "Well, I've certainly married a _firecracker_ ," John growls, his eyes growing dark.

"You like it? I can see why you enjoy these clothes _so_ much. I think I might even look sexier in them than you do, my love."

Groaning, Riddell claims your mouth with his, clutching you close and making his way back outside. His tongue delves into your mouth for a moment before he sits you on the nearest rock and shrugs out of his jacket, laying it on the ground. "I'm going to strip you, my dear, and then I'm going to take you beneath the stars. You may be a live wire, but I can _certainly_ handle your spark."

You can't stop giggling as his fingers fumble slightly with your buttons, your own fingers working his open in half the time. "Have you never undressed a man before?" you tease.

John's eyes flash, something primal and hungry there; seconds later he's kissing you as he never has before, completely dominating your mouth and taking exactly what he wants and then some. He works the shirt off you then starts on the jodhpurs, groaning when he pulls away to see you're not wearing any undergarments at all. "Look like the Victorian _wench_ ," he growls, "is a right little tease, going bare for the hunter skilled enough to trap her."

 _Oh_. Now _this_ , you can work with this. "She knows how best to attract the African Hunter. The Wild has taught her much about what men desire."

"Well, the African Hunter very much enjoys touching," he whispers in your ear, dropping the trousers to the ground and slipping two fingers along your sex before popping them in his mouth. "And tasting," he adds, watching you squirm on the rock. His jodhpurs are still on, so you reach and grasp the bulge in the fabric, enjoying the groan he gives. That seems to decide it; John lifts you from the rock and deposits you on your hands and knees on his coat where he spread it on the ground, using other discarded items to pad your palms and your knees. Even though he's about to fuck you into the next life, he still wants to make sure you don't get hurt.

"The African Hunter likes to take his prey from behind, like the other animals he enjoys hunting," you hear him murmur, kissing up your spine while he strips the rest of the way. His hands grasp your hips and guide you to the tip of his erection. Your husband grinds you ever so teasingly against him, waiting until you can't keep quiet and start begging for him to take you... and take you he does.

You cry out when he finally buries himself in your tight, wet heat, stretching you and filling you perfectly. "The Victorian... wench loves the cock of... the African Hunter _best_. It's _perfect_ and _huge_." Never let it be said that you don't know how to stroke your husband's ego should he or the mood arise.

John starts snapping his hips, fucking you with rough, sharp strokes. "And the... African Hunter... is most fond of... the Victorian wench... bare and willing before him..."

Oh god, his _voice_. It always gets huskier when he's aroused, his proper accent roughening into one far more local and common; you really should mention how much it arouses you, but all thoughts of that are blown away when he slows and circles his hips, suddenly going at a leisurely, easy, almost lazy pace. Frustrated, you try and rock back on him, but his grip on your hips tightens. "Oh no... the African Hunter gets to _have his way_ with the Victorian wench, exactly as he pleases."

"Please... please... _John_..."

It's driving you absolutely mad, but your begging has him driving back into you with abandon, fucking you hard and rough until you scream his name, clenching and shuddering as you come. He keeps going through your climax, managing to bring you over the edge a second time before he finishes, resting his head on your back as he convulses and fills you with his release. You're panting when he slips out, heading into the tent long enough to bring out one of his shirts and a blanket, putting the shirt on you and then wrapping you up to keep you warm in the African night. He pulls on his jodhpurs and fills the bowls by the fire with stew. You both sit there with your backs to the rock, his arm around your shoulder once he finishes his dinner, and then you both look up at the stars.

The night sky here never ceases to amaze you, all the stars twinkling and shining and stretching out as far as you can see. It's like a blanket sewn with lights large enough to cover the heavens. John points out different constellations and tells you every story he knows about them until you nod off in his arms. He gently picks you up and takes you into the tent, tucking you in before cleaning up outside. A short time later, he strips and pulls on a pair of pants before crawling under the covers, pulling you close and whispering in your ear.

"And at the end of the day, the African Hunter will always hold his Victorian lass close to his heart... where she belongs."


	127. The Mark of His Mouth- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: Posessive Sherlock likes to mark his lovers so the world knows that they are his, reader has some very sensitive spots on her neck that get her hot and bothered whenever they're touched, public and private scenes would be lovely!
> 
> Requested by Lola: And can you please do a Sherlock and purple shirt story? Just something about him and wearing the purple shirt. It can be combined with other prompts

_He forces you back against the wall, his mouth breaking away from your lips to kiss across your jaw and down your neck, his tongue dancing over the weak spot right above your pulse point._

_"I'm going to mark you... leave you bruised and begging... aching for more... what will others be able to deduce about you, hmmm? Should be a warning to them... of who_ owns _you."_

_You can barely stay standing as his mouth closes over the spot, sucking hard and bringing the blood to the surface just below your skin. Sherlock growls in his throat, his teeth grazing the damp patch until you fancy you can feel the blood vessels bursting... but he's grinding against you, hard as a rock and your arms are around his neck and you want to scream you're so aroused._

_When he pulls back, his eyes are almost black, ringed with the piercing grey-blue you love so much. "Where_ else _shall I mark you, then?"_

oOoOo

It takes your boyfriend all of two dates to discover that you like when he gets possessive, how much it turns you on to have him mark you for the rest of the world to see. You never hide the hickeys but wear them proudly, especially when around Sherlock. His grip around your waist already tightens reflexively when other men start checking you out, and he isn't above marking you in public. You are at the theater once for a case, and he spends the better part of ten minutes leaving two twin bruises on your neck just because you smiled at another man.

Yep, your boyfriend is fucking _hot_ when he's jealous and possessive.

oOoOo

_He pulls open your blouse and drops it to the floor, his mouth diving down to kiss and suck at your breasts, leaving new bruises where only he can see before attacking the other side of your neck. You stifle a whimper into his suit jacket, trembling in his arms. You can hear the others at the party on the other side of the door, and suddenly you can't remember if he locked it or not, but when he frees your breasts and pinches your nipples with his violinist fingers, tweaking and tugging them, you can't be arsed to care anymore. He still looks completely put together, only a slight flush on his pale face._

_"He's not to look at you like that. You are_ mine _, and I'm going to_ remind _you both of that."_

 _All you can do is whimper in assent as he shoves your skirt and knickers to the floor, smirking like he's just solved a case. "_ Turn around. _"_

oOoOo

Sometimes his possessiveness gets in the way, especially if he has to bring you along on a case. One particularly memorable time has you as bait for a murderer (very long story, Sherlock insisted), and he blows the cover because he has to watch you flirt with the man. Thankfully, his jealous rage serves you well, and the thug is apprehended... and then Sherlock practically turns into a vampire in the middle of New Scotland Yard, you a moaning, writhing mess until he has a nice, fresh love bite on your neck and his arm firmly around your waist. When Anderson tries to make a comment, Sherlock gives him a look that could have melted Mycroft.

oOoOo

_He guides you to the bed and takes your arms, binding them behind your back (with his shirt!) and bending you over the mattress. "As much as I love hearing you scream, you don't want him to come looking for you, do you?"_

_"N-no..." You can barely think through the haze of arousal and lust in your mind, your sex aching for any kind of friction._

_"Very good... now..." You hear the rasp of his zip before he takes your hips in his hands. "You took your pill today?"_

_You nod eagerly, knowing where this is going._

_"_ Perfect. _"_

oOoOo

It is John who insists on the party at Baker Street, a celebration for the New Year. Sherlock scoffs, calling it "pointless" and "dull," but you like the idea, and when the time comes, it almost makes Baker Street cozy with your close friends and some of the Yarders there. You notice Greg Lestrade right off, relaxed in jeans and a very tight fitting jumper, so you offer to get him a drink, playing the good hostess. He's clearly eyeing you, admiring your blue blouse and knee length black skirt, complimenting you on it.

"I think it brings out the blue in Sherlock's eyes, but don't tell him I said that. He'll say it's unnecessary and-"

"-Sentimental?"

You start and whirl around, your boyfriend standing there in his customary black trousers and suit jacket, your favorite purple shirt enclosing his chest; his hand drifts up, and his fingertips trace lightly along the most sensitive part of your neck, making you shiver. "I-I didn't hear you come over."

"Follow me."

You shoot Greg an apologetic look and follow your boyfriend back through to his room.

oOoOo

_He drives into you with a single thrust, setting up an absolutely brutal pace. He's pistoning his hips like he's in a race, pounding into you over and over, his fingers digging into your hips and surely leaving bruises. Sherlock bends over you and trails his lips across your shoulders, sucking new marks into the skin._

_"You're going to cum for me, and you're going to scream my name into the duvet," he hisses in your ear, snapping and circling his hips slowly a few times before upping the pace again. One hand moves around to find your aching clit and brushes against it._

_You arch and scream, burying your face in the comforter as you climax. Sherlock follows not long after, biting at an unmarked place on your neck as he fills you. Breathing heavily, he pulls out and cleans up, untying your wrists and fetching a flannel to dry you off._

_"Get dressed."_

_You move slowly, putting yourself back together and doing up the buttons on your blouse; Sherlock takes that over from you, leaving it undone to your décolletage; you can see the new marks on your skin and your neck is fairly sore._

_"Now... time to show you off."_


	128. I Prefer to Text- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Jen: Sexting with Sherlock! Maybe written as a series of text messages?

You are _bored_. Bored bored bored. Seriously, if you knew how to use a handgun, you'd take a page from Sherlock's book and shoot an interesting design in the walls of 221 B. However, you like Mrs. Hudson and you don't want to annoy/scare her. You've already read all the books you have (at least twice), you've had a cuppa, your knitting is boring, and there's nothing to do on the telly. Even the laptop has lost its appeal. When you think you're about ready to scream, your phone goes off.

 _What are you wearing_? You blink. It's from Sherlock. Is he being serious? It must be for a case. Or he's stuck in a meeting. You fire off a quick reply.

 **Jeans and a t-shirt. Why?** When he texts back, your face turns bright red and you nearly drop your phone. Oh my.

 _Just want to see if it's anything you cared for. That way I can tear it off and not run the risk of having you angry at me_.

You swallow hard, but are determined to see this through. If he wants to talk dirty, then he'll _get_ talking dirty.

 **I actually do care about this particular shirt and pair of jeans. Bra, too. My knickers, though? Those you can tear off**.-You smirk as you press the send button, feeling all sorts of naughty. After about a minute, your phone buzzes with the reply.

 _No. I won't tear off your knickers. I prefer to remove those slowly... with my teeth_.

Oh sweet Mercy, this man is going to be the death of you. You can picture that in your mind's eye, too: Sherlock, on his knees in front of you, sliding your knickers off, dragging them down your legs with one edge of them caught in his mouth, those blue eyes staring up at you. You decide to move this to a more appropriate setting... his bedroom. You stand and walk quickly, shutting the door behind you before you settle yourself on his bed, smirking.

 **That sounds lovely. I'll use my teeth too... to undo the buttons on your shirt. And maybe undo the zip on your trousers. We'll see, though**. You send. It takes closer to two minutes for a reply to this one. You can picture him getting hot and bothered, a bit flushed in the face, maybe even a bit of a tent in his trousers. The thought of him getting worked up over _you_ makes the space between your legs heat up. You shiver as you cross and uncross them, trying to be comfortable.

 _Do tell. Of course, the best part is after we've both disrobed; I love watching you watching me, wondering what I'm going to do to you_.

You swallow hard. **I think it's more along the lines of wondering what you /won't/ do to me. And whatever you do decide, I know it'll leave us both sated. Although I do like it when you take me hard, pounding into me, holding me close to you. My legs wrapped around your hips, ankles crossed at the small of your back...** You bite your lip. You've never done this before, and while you feel self-conscious, you don't really care. You're in private, so it's not like anyone is going to walk in on you.

There's close to a five minute pause, now, and you begin to worry if you've gone too far. Just as you're about to go back out to the sitting room, though, there's another buzz from your phone.

_I know you favor that position. However, I like to have you astride me, riding my cock. You look so wild then, rocking above me. I love guiding your hips with my hands, making you move faster or slower. Or reaching up to cup your breasts, tugging on your nipples, making you arch and moan for me. You must be soaking right now, with how I'm talking to you. I know what that does to you, how you come undone when I whisper in your ear._

You swallow hard. Damn that brilliant man, he's right. "Bugger all this," you huff, and you strip off your jeans, leaving you in your knickers. You trail your hands down, sliding under the waistband and you drag your fingers along your folds, feeling just how wet you are. You reply clumsily, taking extra time as it's difficult to text with only one hand free.

 **Yes. But what I like about both positions is that it leaves me free to tug at your hair. That makes you fuck me harder, more roughly. And I love being able to tease your neck, run my tongue along it.** You close your eyes as your fingers work, circling your clit before dipping down to your entrance, thinking of him. The buzz of your mobile interrupts you, although you continue as you read, biting your lip.

 _You're touching yourself now, thinking about me, aren't you? Of course you are; I can see it... fingers buried deep inside you, curling and pumping. What I wouldn't give to be there instead of where I am right now. I'd fuck you until you screamed and begged for more._ You gasp as your fingers just brush along that one spot as you fumble out a reply.

 **Who said I'd be the one begging?** You send it and with your eyes screwed shut tight, you stroke faster and harder, thinking of him above you, around you, inside you. Your free hand goes up and back to grab the pillow as you climax, arching your hips as your sex clenches and squeezes around your fingers, his name leaving your lips in a moan. You slide your hand out of your knickers and lay back on the bed, panting, worn out from your orgasm. You begin to drift off, starting awake as you hear the door to his bedroom open and close.

"Well then," you hear Sherlock's sinful baritone drawl. "I do believe the fruits of my labor are a success." You turn to see him standing at the edge of the bed, wearing a smirk. You return the expression.

"Yes, they were. Care to bring in the harvest?" you cheekily retort. He laughs as you drag him down to the bed, your phones forgotten... until the next time he's in a boring meeting, of course.


	129. Cuffed. Now Spread 'Em- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for a sequel to Chapter 125... yeah. Here it is.

_Greg straightens himself up, fixing his trousers and shirt before pulling you in for a very rough and dirty kiss. "I think it's time for a little interrogation," he growls in your ear._

 

You smirk. "Oh yes, I've been a _very_ bad girl, Detective Inspector. So bad, that I think I need to be brought in. And possibly interrogated if you're insisting."

"I _am_."

"You need to find out just _what_ I know."

"Is that so?"

"Yes it is. Quite urgent too."

"If that's the case..." Quick as a flash, you're in Lestrade's chair, and your wrists are cuffed behind it, the metal snapping together with a final sounding -click-

"I _was_ going to take you to one of the interrogation rooms, but I think this will do _just_ fine."

You're still smirking at him, tilting your head to the side. "Rather impatient, aren't you, sir?"

"That's _Detective Inspector_ to you, and you'd do well to remember it, wench."

That's all it takes for heat to flood between your legs, making you squirm. "And... and why must I remember that, Detective Inspector?"

"Because-" his lips drop to your ear, "Senior officers do it best."

"I thought this was an interrogation-"

"It is. Just not the normal kind." He pushes your skirt up until it bunches at your waist before leaning in and taking your knickers in his teeth. Ever so slowly, he drags them down your legs and off your body, inhaling the scent of the fabric. "I'll be needing to keep these as evidence."

His hands catch your ankles, keeping your legs spread open. "I won't have you closing these now, _oh no_. By the time I'm through, the entire department will know just how wanton you really are, what you're willing to do for a little bit of fun. I can pull records on you, about you and a certain Gregory Lestrade. _Quite_ the torrid affair you've been having."

Your eyes grow wide, making him start to smirk. "No retort to that? Will he be jealous when he finds out what I've done? Having my way with his _gorgeous_ lover?"

"I'll... I'll bring charges against you... you'll have to answer to him, Detective Inspector."

"But dearie... who would believe his word against mine?" He kneels between your legs, setting your heels on his desk. " _Don't_ move." You couldn't if you wanted to.

Greg runs his hands up and down your thighs, deliberately brushing against the sensitive skin around your sex but not touching you yet. "Are you going to tell me what you know?"

"I'll... I'll never betray him... never... do your worst, Detective Inspector."

He grins, showing his teeth, and you can see his pupils dilate. "Then you won't mind if I have a little taste? See what I'm missing?" He lowers his mouth to you, lapping at your folds for a few long moments before giving your clit some attention. You arch into him, straining against the cuffs. "W-won't break... so easy..."

The next move is for Greg to add one blunt, rough finger to the mix, pressing torturously slowly into your body, letting you clench around it a few times before he starts pumping, the pad of it rubbing against your sensitive walls. He resumes his oral abuse of your clit, tugging and sucking on it and giving out faint moans of delight, as if you're the most delicious thing he's ever eaten before.

You, on the other hand, are practically a sobbing mess. On a normal night, it's fairly easy for him to take you apart like this, but _now_ , now that you can't touch him, can't bury your hands in his silvering hair, it's absolute torment. "Okay! I'll... I'll talk."

He stops long enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening. "Talk then." He resumes what he was doing, a third finger joining the party. You gasp, writhing and trying to get free, the sweet torture more than you can bear. "The secret... it's that... that I love him... I love Gregory Lestrade."

Now, neither one of you has said the 'L' word yet, so you feel his movements stutter slightly, his voice a bit strained when he speaks next. "Say that again."

"I love him. I love Greg Lestrade, my boyfriend, an officer with the New bloody Scotland Yard! Now _please_... I've told you... let me come... _Detective Inspector_."

It's embarrassing how short a time he takes bringing you over, his free hand reaching up to slip two fingers into your mouth to help keep you quiet. When you've gone limp in the chair, he slides his fingers out of you and cleans them off with his tongue, making sure they're free of your release before fetching the key to the cuffs. Greg releases you and kneels again, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you slowly.

"I love you too."

You smile and break the kiss, resting your forehead against his. " _Good_. Otherwise I'd be bringing you in on charges of playing with an innocent girl's heart."

He snorts. "Not that innocent."

"Well, you got me there. Perhaps I'll show you just how corrupt it is tonight. Don't stay at work too long."

"Wouldn't dream of it, luv."


	130. Cuffed and Begging- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by newuniverse: Sub!Lestrade. Lots of making him talk through everything that is happening. Some begging, lots of heavy accent. Moderate amount of spanking and high heels (for our lovely reader). Maybe some writing on him in lipstick about the slut he is...*looks sheepish and whistles*

You're waiting for Greg when he arrives home late for the third day in a row; work has really been taking over his life, and even though you completely understand and you know he loves what he does, you're a little irritated. It's been nearly two weeks since the last time you've had sex, and at this point, you want to remind him of just how lucky he is to have you. It's no coincidence that you greet him when he shuts the door to the flat behind him in your best black lace bra and knickers along with a pair of what Greg lovingly calls your 'fuck me shoes'. His jaw nearly hits the floor when he sees you.

"Really? I've seen better imitations of the 'Scream' mask than that, you lazy little slut."

His eyes start to flash, but then he _really_ takes in what you're wearing; you saunter forward and undo his belt, slowly pulling it through the loops in his trousers. "On your hands and knees, boy slut, or I'll have to use this."

He groans softly and drops to all fours, but you still give him a light smack on the arse. "Did I say make noise? And address me as 'mistress'."

"No... mistress."

"Very good. Looks like the boy slut _can_ learn. Now crawl to the bedroom." Then, as an afterthought, "The safe word is 'Anderson'."

He manages to suppress whatever retort he has for that, leading the way to the bedroom you share. You kick the door shut behind you, lifting his cuffs from his pocket. "Strip and on the bed on your back, slut."

You can tell he's really torn about obeying and taking charge, so you slap him lightly on the backside again, spurring him into action. Moments later, he's done as you command, already half hard. Smirking at him, you stride over and lift his arms above his head, fastening them to the headboard with his own cuffs; you then drop the key into your bra. "For safekeeping."

You don't think Greg has blinked in at least a minute, and you make sure to shake your bum as you retrieve a tube of bright red lipstick from your vanity, climbing onto the bed and straddling your boyfriend as you open it. "Now then... what should I do with you, hmmm? What does a bad boy like you deserve, you fuck slut?"

When he doesn't answer, you climb off him and pick up the belt. "Roll over."

"I can't, mistress."

"Then roll onto your _side_."

He does, a bit apprehensive since he can't see you in this position.

"When I ask you a question... you _answer_ me," you growl, flicking the tip of the belt against his bare arse, watching the spot flush.

"Y-yes, mistress."

"And if you don't, then you'll be _punished_." Another flick of the belt to his other cheek.

"Understood... mistress."

"Now, answer this time. Am I making you hard yet? What does this make you want to do to _me_ , you filthy little whore?"

He groans, squirming slightly. "I want to pull your knickers off with my teeth. I want to slip my fingers inside you until you're begging for me to stop and then fuck you hard, pound you into the bed beneath me, watch you writhe and gasp and scream, mistress. I want to feel your heels digging into my back, holding me close to your heated body. I want to make you smell like _me_."

"Oh? You want to take charge? That's _my_ job." Two short flicks of the belt to his bum, the cheeks nice and pink now.

"I-I want to tease you with my... with my tongue, taste your juices, drink you down, mistress."

You fight the rush of heat that surges through you, his accent growing thicker with every word. "Yes, but you _can't_ , so what would you like me to do to you?"

You can almost hear his eyes rolling back into his skull. "I want you to _ride_ me, mistress. I want to be inside you, filling you and stretching you, surrounded by your wet heat. I want you to tease me with your tongue, suck me off, suck me and then ride me. I want you to pull my hair, tug and control me with your hands, punish me for ignoring you, for being such a /bad/ boy..."

"On your back, slut. I have a use for the lipstick now."

He follows the order and you straddle him again, writing in big capital letters on his chest:

**I'VE BEEN A BAD BOY AND I NEED TO BE PUNISHED**

"Because you _are_ a bad boy, such a naughty thing, and I will punish you." You grind against his length, making him whimper before getting up and practically skipping to the kitchen. Reaching in the freezer, you grab an ice cube and then return, settling between his legs on the bed. "See this? You wanted teasing, so I'll _tease_."

You run the ice down the side of his neck first before leaning over him and following it with your tongue, the stark contrast of cold and then warm pulling low groans from his chest. His nipples are next, the ice teasing them very quickly into hardness, and then you suck on them, tugging with your teeth; his breathing is very shallow, his eyelids fluttering and his head twitching against the pillows.

"How does this feel, you naughty boy?"

"So-so good, mistress. It makes me so _hard_."

"And what would you like me to do about how hard you are?"

"P-please, mistress... have mercy mistress..."

The ice travels down his stomach, dipping into his navel, and your mouth follows after, but you save the best for last; holding each of his legs still in turn, you drag the remaining ice up the inside of each thigh, almost to his arousal, and by the time you suck the ice into your mouth, cooling your lips, he's shaking with the effort of holding still.

"Beg for it."

" _Please_... swallow me down, mistress. Please wrap your lips around my cock... bring me some relief... _please_ , mistress..."

With a smirk, you grasp his base and give him what he wants, secretly treasuring his surprise as your ice-chilled lips meet the heated flesh.

"AH! Th-thank you, mistress..." he groans, his hands straining against the cuffs. You give him no more time to adjust, bobbing quickly on him; your game has made you nearly desperate to have him inside you, and at this point, you just want him nice and hard so you can ride him like a jockey. When you feel him start to tense, you pull off and squeeze his base hard, forcing back his climax. "You'll cum when I tell you to, not before. Understand?"

"Y-yes m-mistress."

"Very good, slut." You straddle him and push your knickers to the side, slipping two fingers inside yourself with a little wanton moan of your own. "I'm imagining these are yours... would you like a taste?"

" _Yes,_ please, mistress."

"Too bad." You wipe your fingers off on his cheek and line him up with your entrance, sinking down on him in one motion, still in your bra and knickers and shoes, your hair loose and wild now, framing your face as you begin to slowly rock. "Legs up behind me," you whisper, grinding down.

Greg sets his feet flat on the bed, giving you his legs to lean back on as you fuck him. Your fingers pinch and twist and abuse his nipples until he can no longer form words properly; then you bury them in his silvering hair and _pull_ , moving faster and faster, nearing your end. Your lips drop to his ear and you lick the whorl of it with the tip of your tongue. "You may cum now."

Your boyfriend loses himself, bucking up and shouting your name, sending you both over at almost the same time, and you're still twitching with the aftershocks when you pull the key from its hiding place and unlock the cuffs, releasing him. Greg slowly sits up, still somewhat seated in you and kisses you for the first time since he got home. "You should know better than to deny me touch, luv because next time, _you'll_ be the one bound and _I'll_ have my hands everywhere."

"Oh _yes_ , Master."


	131. Prayer- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by WhisperingWinds: You say you have more ideas for this? Request for more of this with Priest!Lock?

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been two days since my last confession."

"I know how long it has been, my child. Have you had any change with your carnal cravings?"

"They-they're stronger, Father. Stronger every day, and the dreams only grow more and more vivid."

"What was the most recent one of?"

"I was saying my evening prayers... on my knees in my room as always... when you entered... you had me praying to _you_ on my knees."

You can practically hear the self-satisfied smirk on Sherlock's face in the half-dark of his bedroom. "Why don't you demonstrate for me right now?"

Trembling, you slide from the chair to the floor, kneeling and placing your hands on your thighs, staring demurely at the floor. He stands and walks over to stop before you, his shoes reflecting the light from the streetlamp outside. "Look at me, my child."

You obey, glancing up through your eyelashes to meet his icy gaze, darkened with desire for you, even more so, you'd say, in this position. Sherlock unzips his trousers, loosening the belt and dropping them to the ground; the infuriating man does not even bother to drop his silk boxers as well but instead pulls himself through the slit in the front, half hard for you. "Go on, my child. Give me your full confession and repentance."

Pushing up so that you are no longer sitting back on your heels, you find yourself at eye-level with Sherlock's arousal; his long fingers that bring you pleasure in your darkest fantasies bury themselves in your hair and tug, reminding you that you aren't here to observe but to participate and obey. He guides you to his tip, and you lap at his slit, tonguing it and swirling around his head; he shudders and groans, his grip tightening almost painfully.

You drag your tongue along him, coaxing him into full hardness in a matter of moments, proving how much he wants you; you press wet, open-mouthed kisses against his base and even go down to do the same to his balls. Hardly any time later, he tugs you back up and presses himself against your lips, opens his mouth, and begins to speak. "May almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you your sis, and lead you to everlasting life."

Oh fucking Hell... he's saying the prayers of absolution as you take him into your mouth, swallowing him down as far as you can manage. He's hot and heavy on your tongue, and you can even feel his pulse through the thick vein along his underside. It barely takes any more coaxing from him before you start sucking, hollowing your cheeks and letting him set the pace.

"May the almighty and... merciful Lord... grant you pardon, absolution, a-and remission of... of your sins."

That's the second prayer, and he's really working your mouth now; your lips are starting to burn as he takes complete control and begins fucking your mouth, wet, rough, amazing. Your eyes open and close of their own accord, and you grasp his hips to steady you a bit, your center aching, but he keeps talking, going through the prayers, his voice rougher and more desperate with every passing second.

"May our L-Lord _Jesus Christ_ absolve you. And I b-by His authority r-r-release you from every... bond of excom... communication and...and _interdict_ , insofaras I am...am empowered and you h-have need. And n-now I absolve _you_ from your... your sins; in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the _Holy Spirit_!"

The last two words are practically gasped in true prayer as he comes, shooting down your throat and nearly pulling hair from your head. You swallow most of his release, a little bit trickling from the corner of your mouth as you struggle to breathe again, his now limp member slipping from between your lips. Sherlock tilts your head up to look at him, wiping his cum from your cheek. "I shall expect you tomorrow for confession. There is much you have yet to tell me."


	132. Trick or Treat- John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by KeeperofSecrets: John and Sherlock. Something for Halloween maybe? But always John and Sherlock.
> 
> Requested by afro_chic_geek: Also I would love something Halloween based.
> 
> And just in time for Halloween as well!!!!!!!

Its October 31st... All Hallow's Eve. You've been invited up to 221B for a bit of a party (at Mrs. Hudson's insistence... Sherlock gave in with much rolling of eyes). You adjust your costume; you figured that Little Red Riding Hood was good enough. You make your way up the stairs, following the noise of the revelry.

The flat has a few people in it: Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and, of course, John and Sherlock. You're greeted with a cheer, and Greg presses a mug of hard cider into your hands. You smile and set down your basket, removing the red hood of your cloak and smoothing down your skirt as you sit. Mrs. Hudson is wearing a pair of cat ears on a headband, Greg is a rugby player (which you think suits him), John is dressed as a pirate, and Sherlock... you can't tell what he is from where you're sitting, and you cock your head to the side as you study him. He catches you looking and flashes a pointed grin; then you catch it. His eyes... he's put in yellow contacts and is wearing what looks to be a cloak with a fur-lined collar. He's supposed to be some sort of... werewolf, at least that's what you think.

You swallow hard and take a large sip from the cider in your hands. John is openly staring at you, so you stare back. His blue coat (with lace at the sleeves) is stunning, and he looks every inch the dashing swashbuckler, including the cutlass thrust into his belt. You think all of it is real... it certainly looks that way (must be a perk of working and living with Sherlock). The flatmates share a cryptic glance and you go back to socializing with the DI and the landlady, asking about how they're doing and generally enjoying yourself.

The party lasts for three more hours, until Mrs. Hudson and Greg take their leave, citing work and an appointment the next day; that means you're left by yourself with Sherlock and John. You fidget with the hem of your skirt and the edge of the napkin in your basket.

"Well, I guess I should be going too, then..." you say, your voice overly bright. John raises an eyebrow and Sherlock merely looks at you. You swallow hard again. Damn... you really don't _want_ to go, but you should because if you don't, then you'll want to do all those indecent things that have been running through your head to the two men who share the flat. Guess it's another night with your fingers and toy again. You stand up and make to leave, but John moves between you and the door, his blue eyes focused on you.

"Now now, lassie, I don't think you're going to be heading _anywhere_ ," he says, his usually gentle voice rougher as he walks forward, making you take steps back. You feel yourself hit something, and then a pair of hands settle on your hips.

"No... not going anywhere indeed," Sherlock echoes, his voice rich and dark, making you shiver. Your heart begins to race as John continues advancing, until you're firmly sandwiched between the two men.

"You may _look_ like an innocent maid, but I bet, under these... plain wrappings," he says, plucking gently at the collar of your dress, "that there's a wanton wench. What say we find out?" He directs this last question at Sherlock who flashes another grin that shows far too many teeth to be comforting. He drops his nose to the crook of your neck and you feel the heat of his skin and lips; he rumbles a soft growl that sends goose bumps prickling up your arms and spine.

"She smells divine... and I'll warrant that she tastes even better," he tells John, who is busy untying the strings of your cloak. It falls to the ground in an obscenely bright puddle of cloth. You feel somewhat colder without its comforting weight on your shoulders, but that feeling is quickly replaced by the touch of long violinist fingers and rough soldier's hands, sliding along your waist and chest, searching for fastenings and clasps. Your eyes flutter shut as John bends to press kisses along your neck, Sherlock's hands going back to clutching your hips. You gasp as you feel his tongue dart out and drag along the skin just above your pulse point. You can feel both of them rapidly hardening against you, making you arch into them as they continue their explorations of your body.

John rucks up your skirt and his hands falter as he feels the garters and stockings. His eyes find yours, and they're so dilated that there's barely a ring of blue around his expanded pupils.

"Ohh yes... a wanton wench _indeed_ ," he says, his voice husky. Sherlock's hands join John's, and he groans.

" _Bedroom_ ," the taller man demands, and you are swiftly guided there. Sherlock slams the door shut behind him as John presses you down on the bed, pinning you with his body and kissing you senseless, your wrists pinned to the mattress by his hands. You arch up into him, panting when his mouth finally leaves yours.

"Well, Captain... since I'm such a wanton wench, are you going to teach me the error of my ways?" you ask, smirking and arching an eyebrow. He stares hard at you and gets up.

"Too right I will," he says shortly, shedding his coat and working hastily on disrobing. Sherlock is merely looking at you, spread out on the bed like a banquet. John is down to his trousers and starts in on your clothing, shucking your dress off over your head. You toe off your shoes and kick them aside as he drinks in the sight of you in your bra and panties, the garter belt and stockings glistening softly in the low light of the room. He lets out a harsh breath. "These.... these I'm going to have to get rid of. With my _teeth_ ," he says. Your eyes go large and dark at that, and you moan as he begins to make good on his promise, tugging at the articles of clothing gently.

John goes agonizingly slow, making you whine and whimper as he drags the silk inch by inch off your body, interspersing the removal with kisses as he works his way down. When he's finally done, you are so keyed up that you're fairly certain that you're soaking the duvet. You unclasp and toss aside your bra as John finishes removing his clothing, his cock jutting upwards from between his legs. His mouth closes over one of your nipples, suckling it and gently tugging it between his teeth as his fingers dip between your legs and find you wet and wanting. He groans as he slips two digits inside you, making you gasp and arch into him.

"Please, John, _please_ ," you pant. He moves to the other breast and moves his hands to line himself up at your entrance, slicking the head of his arousal up before he presses into you, one inch at a time until you're full of him. Your legs wind around his hips as he hisses.

"God, you're so tight," he says from between clenched teeth. He begins to move, setting a decent pace that reminds you of the waves of the ocean. You move against him, with him, both of you close to that bright shattering. A flicker of movement catches your eye: Sherlock is watching you both, pacing back and forth, much like an agitated animal. You moan loudly as John drives in deeper and the consulting detective stares at you, his eyes boring into yours, but just at that moment, John does something that makes your eyes snap shut and your head fall back into the mattress. He does it again and you're gone, clenching around him as you chant his name. He thrusts twice more and hastily pulls out, spilling himself all over his hand as he groans. He moves back so he can clean himself up and catch his breath, leaving the room to fetch a flannel. As you come down from your peak, you feel the mattress dip beside you.

You turn your head and see Sherlock, staring at you, through you. His yellow eyes are disconcerting, especially since you are so used to seeing him with the bright, cold blue that you've come to know and be so fond of. You stare back and he flashes that sharp smile again.

"Well, now that the good Captain has had his turn," he rumbles. He flips you over on to your belly and pulls you to your hands and knees. He presses his clothed erection to your still-dripping core, and you can't help but buck back against it, still sensitive from the orgasm John gave you. He chuckles, dark and low. "Such a needy thing you are..." he murmurs, and you hear the sound of him unclasping the cloak and getting rid of his clothing. You could turn to watch, but something is keeping you pinned to your place. You start as you feel the touch of his skin against yours, his large hands roaming up your back, then down again to grasp your hips. "Needy, yes... and beautiful. So lovely in your wanting. And all you want is me to claim you, to make you _mine_ ,"  he snarls the last word as he lines his cock up with your entrance and sheathes himself to the hilt, causing you to cry out. He groans, long and deep, stilling himself. "You're so hot... a bitch in heat, as the saying goes," he says as he starts to move. John has since returned and is watching from the door, flannel in hand. He nearly walks into the wall as he keeps his eyes glued on the pair of you, Sherlock taking you from behind like an animal.

The detective's hips snap faster, making you gasp as he bottoms out. He leans down and you feel the sharp graze of teeth along your neck, sucking a dark bruise to the tender column of your throat. You shudder and keen as you feel yourself tipping over the edge again, his cock hitting that one spot deep inside you that causes your vision to go white. You shake and shudder as you come again, calling his name. He snarls and growls as he spills himself inside you before he collapses on you, his weight heavy and comforting at the same time.

"Now, Sherlock, we don't want to crush her. After all, we gave her a treat... we should see if she's up to giving us one later," John says from the other side of the room, a grin on his face. You smile back as you catch your breath. _Oh, a treat indeed._


	133. Gotta Keep Running- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by what am I doing here: A brash Reader is abducted for reasons and is all set to jump off a roof or do something equally drastic to keep from giving away state secrets. Jim talks her down with promises of release which somehow segue into what /nice things/ will happen if she doesn't jump/shoot/whatever. She complies and things heat up and the next morning Jim wakes up to find he'd put too much faith in his own (admittedly) persuasive abilities: she's run away. The end. He's Jim Moriarty, though. He knows how to fix her, should a sequel be in order some day.

You're running. You've been running. The old warehouse is a veritable maze, and you've been hopelessly lost for quite some time now, but anything is better than facing _him_ , those mad, burning brown eyes boring into yours, his voice soft and persuasive, the deceptive strength in his hands... so you keep on running.

When you feel your chest may burst from not being able to breathe, you find yourself stumbling onto the roof, the sudden chill of the wind startling you and sharpening your senses. Almost in a daze, you make your way to the edge and glance over, swallowing hard; it's a _long_ way down to the ground.

"What have we here?"

You barely suppress a gasp of shock as you whirl around, that damnable man in his impeccable suit standing but a few feet away, hands in his pockets, and seemingly innocent, but you know better.

"S-stay back-"

"Or what little pet?"

"Or I'll... I'll jump!"

He starts chuckling and shaking his head, but when you take a step back, he stops, staring at you with a new look of curiosity and interest. "Well then... come on back, little pet. Jimmy won't hurt you. Promise."

"You're full of shit, Moriarty."

"Only a fool would think such a thing, and I know you aren't foolish. Come on back from the edge. I won't keep you. You'll be free. Just walk this way... towards me... come along, little pet... do it for me..."

His voice is so soft, almost hypnotic in quality that you sway slightly where you stand. "B-but I don't... _can't_ trust you."

"Why not? Jimmy would never let anything happen to his beautiful pet... so delicious... and so interesting. Why would I want someone so desirable to go splat?" He extends a hand to you, and the expression on his face is one that you might even describe as kind.

"But you abducted me. You were interrogating me. How can I possibly trust you after that?"

He shakes his head. "I'm ever so changeable, and I saw how negatively you responded to such treatment. Now, come here, little pet. Jimmy really wants to give you a kiss... you haven't had one in months, am I right?"

You nod, amazed that he knows that. "How-"

"I can see things, pet. I've always been able to. I can see so many things, not the least of which is that you've not been properly touched or treated by a man in a very, very long time."

"And you... you won't hurt me?"

"Not unless you ask me to. And I can make you feel amazing, cause you to shatter and reassemble, give you the best night you've ever had and bring you back, begging for more. What do you say?"

On slightly unsteady legs, you take one step, then another, and another until your hand rests in his. "There," he murmurs, smiling. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

Shaking your head, you glance at your feet and bite your lip, feeling small and insignificant. Jim reaches out and tilts your head up to look at him, his face an interesting mix of curiosity and... desire? No way. _No fucking way._

"Yes fucking way, pet," he whispers, leaning in and kissing you. The criminal's lips are much softer than you anticipated, and he tastes faintly of mint of all things. You find your arms drifting up to drape around his neck, your mouth opening under his ministrations and his tongue darting in to taste you; well, your knees buckle slightly at that. You've not been kissed in ages, and he's a master.

Jim chuckles softly and pulls back, nibbling on your lower lip. "Come back to my place, pet. Let Jimmy show you how you are, help you learn yourself better than ever before. I'm the best, and even though you don't think so, I _do_ know how to treat a woman."

You find yourself nodding, to his delight; he whisks you away in his unmarked black car, taking you back to his flat and up to the penthouse; the decorating seems to almost hark back to Victorian times (although a brief glance at the kitchen says otherwise), but Jim leads you through to the bedroom. He has a frighteningly huge bed with a gorgeous midnight black duvet, trimmed in silver and blood red. The Irishman locks the door and turns back to you, brushing your bangs out of your eyes. "Let's get you out of those clothes, shall we?"

You nod nervously, and he kisses you, working your mouth with his until you moan and clutch at his suit jacket. Chuckling softly, he starts to strip, laying his clothes over a chair and helping you with yours; it takes a few minutes since you are reluctant to do anything other than kiss him, but eventually you're down to your bra and knickers, and he's in his pants (silk boxers of all things). His fingers ghost over your nipples through your bra, and you shiver, whimpering softly. Jim slowly takes that off as well. "Lie down," he murmurs.

The bed is amazingly soft, definitely not a spring mattress, and you sink into it with a sigh, one that turns quickly to a squeak as he tugs at your knickers with his teeth. The air of the room hits your sex once it's bare and makes you shiver; Jim spreads your legs and settles between them, running his hands up and down your body. "So gorgeous, my little pet. Shall I wind you up first? Sample you for myself? Or are you the type who likes to just get down and do it?" He trails one finger down your folds, and you buck against it reflexively; the corner of his mouth tweaks slightly. "Do you like my finger? My cock is much thicker than that. Perhaps I should warm you up a little." He continues stroking you until your eyes are screwed shut and you're panting; that's when he slips two fingers into your entrance, twisting and pumping them. "You're even tighter than I thought, pet," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your nipple.

All you can manage is a moan, the dual stimulation from his mouth and his fingers making you ache. Some part of your brain is still warning you against him, trying to get you to think about what you're doing, but he feels _amazing_ , and it's been so long... too long, you realize through the haze of arousal in your mind. "P-please... I w-want... I want..."

"What, pet? What do you _want_?" He curls his fingers on the last word, causing you to arch off the bed.

"Want you inside me... want you to-to"

" _What_?"

" _To fuck me!_ "

Jim grins, withdrawing his fingers, and you hear the tearing of a condom wrapper and his subsequent groan as he rolls it on his erection. The consulting criminal lines himself up with you and nudges his head against your now dripping entrance before filling you to the hilt. It hurts at first, the stretch uncomfortable, but as he starts to roll his hips, the burn is gone and nothing but pleasure is left. His hands find your wrists, pinning them to the duvet on either side of your head, and you can look up to see him, his brown eyes practically black now.

You meet his gaze with a whimper, and he captures your mouth again, his lips crashing against yours. His tongue is more demanding now, hungrier, and you're soon gasping for air. Jim kisses across to your neck, nipping at your pulse point before sucking on it. You can feel the blood rush to the surface as he marks you with his teeth; he licks it after, soothing the burn with his tongue as a particularly deep thrust makes you cry out. "Close... oh god, I'm close."

"Then cum for me, pet. Scream my name. Shatter for me."

"JIM!!!" His name is torn from your mouth as you shudder and clench, coming so that you see white light and stars. The Irishman is not far behind, groaning your name in your ear as he fills the condom and stills, breathing heavily. Jim slips out and cleans himself up before tossing you a flannel to do the same. You make sure you haven't leaked onto the duvet, and then he pulls you under the covers, curling up around you and falling asleep.

You wait a few hours until you're sure he's completely out and not waking up before slipping out of his grasp, replacing yourself with a pillow. Once you're positive he won't stir, you dress and make your escape, fully set on running and never looking back

oOoOo

_Jim wakes the next morning to discover you've left, a slight smirk playing on his lips._

_"Well, it wouldn't be fun without a little chase, now would it?"_


	134. True Nature- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by what am I doing here: Reader meets Jim for a second time (first is a pleasant encounter giving no indication of criminal nature) by stumbling across a murder he's in the process of committing and he gives her a taste of the darker side of life, in a couple respects.

You've met Jim from IT a couple of times, brought him coffee and had the occasional chat about how stupid some of your coworkers are (you work in the HR department and need to complain sometimes, and he's a good sounding board). He's sweet enough, and you can't help but nurse a little crush on him. It's 7:30 on a Friday night, and you sigh as you shut down your computer. You've been forced to stay late because of a royal fiasco that has just come to light, and you want nothing more than to go home and put up your feet with a good, stiff drink in your hand. You sigh as you shoulder your purse and walk down the stairs; a noise catches your attention, though, and you follow it. It sounds like people talking, although you could have sworn no one is left in the building at this hour, except for the janitors. You walk around the corner and your eyes go wide as you see the body of Williams from accounting slump to the ground, his eyes wide and glazed in death as blood leaks out of a perfect round bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Your breath seizes in your throat as you see the figure standing behind him adjust his impeccable black suit. The man who just killed Williams cocks his head and turns, and you nearly scream. It... it _can't_ be, but it is. The man who you just saw commit a murder is none other than Jim from IT.

He blinks as he sees you, then rolls his eyes. "Damned inconvenient," he huffs, his Irish brogue thick with annoyance.

"But... you... _Jim_?" you ask, your voice quavering with fear. He smirks.

"Jim Moriarty. Hiiii...." he says, grinning. He saunters closer to you, his hands in his pockets, and for every step forward, you take a step back until you're pressed against the wall. He stops just short of touching you, his brown eyes boring into yours. You swallow hard, eyes closed as you are convinced that he's going to put a bullet in your brain next for catching him in the act of homicide. He snorts. "Calm down. I'm not going to kill you," he says, the annoyance back. "No... no, you're _useful_ ," he continues, removing one of his hands from his pockets and brushing his fingertips lightly along your jaw and down your neck. You swallow hard and shiver. You don't know whether being _useful_ to this man is a good thing or not, but if it stops you from getting killed, then you'll take it. He catches the shiver and chuckles. "Oh, sweetheart, why tremble? I'm not going to hurt you... that is, not unless you want me to," he murmurs... and damn your body's response, that makes you blush and the space between your legs heat.

"H-how exactly am I useful?" you have to ask, your voice trembling. He flashes a grin, sharp and quick. He takes one of your hands and guides it down to the front of his trousers. You feel him straining against the fabric, as hard as a rock. You swallow hard. This _really_ shouldn't be turning you on... you just saw him _kill_ a man.

"Well... I get the most _awful_ problem after I have to... take care of a job," he says as he presses your hand tighter to him. "And you... you're willing. You're _soft_. You smell intoxicating," he continues, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "And I know for a fact that you've wanted me since the third time you brought me coffee." You open your mouth but he presses his hand to your lips to quiet you. "Shhh... no more words. Unless it's my name. Because I intend to make you _scream_ it," he hisses into your ear.

You whimper and nod, your fingers closing more around the bulge in his clothing. He groans and pushes into your grip. "Yes, darling, that's it..." he says as his hips twitch. You undo the zip and with a bit of maneuvering, he springs free, hot and hard. His hands aren't idle, either, and he pushes your fitted skirt up to bunch around your waist, then moves one to burrow between your legs, fingers pressing and stroking along the crotch of your knickers, which are rapidly dampening.

"Such a naughty girl," he chuckles as he moves to cup your arse and lifts you up, those clever fingers pushing your pants aside and rubbing his cock against your now-slick folds. You can't help but whimper, wanting him inside you, and you arch into him. He laughs more. "And so _eager_. Yes... yes, useful indeed." And with that, he presses inside you with one swift movement, stretching you and causing you to cry out.

He stops and you swear you can feel him trembling. "Good _Christ_. You're so hot and so tight, little minx," he murmurs into your ear. Slowly, he pulls back only to snap his hips forward. He begins to move at an almost punishing speed, driving into you. You gasp and moan as he fills you, and you can feel his teeth sinking into the soft skin of your throat... marking you, sealing the deal. He continues to move until with one final press of his hips, you both come at the same time. You shudder and arch, crying out his name as he snarls and spills inside of you. He slides out of you and tucks himself away after he sets your feet to the ground. You're trembling slightly with the aftershocks of your pleasure. He looks at you and oscillates his head in a manner that reminds you somewhat of a lizard, and then he grins. "Well, now, love... I think that this is the beginning of a mutually beneficial arrangement. Come, I'll take you back home with me, and there we can further... _discuss_ the terms," he purrs. He turns on his heel, walking out of the room, and you have no choice but to follow.


	135. Propose- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: - Mycroft has been with reader for a long time and wants to marry her, sexytimes before or after proposal.

You've never had a boyfriend for as long as you've been with Mycroft Holmes. The man is ruddy perfect: brilliant, handsome, fucking supernatural in bed, rich, influential, powerful, clever, everything you've ever dreamed of, and you've never been happier. Never. So, when he takes you to a fancy restaurant for your three year anniversary, you instantly accept, clearing your calendar and going shopping for a brand new dress just for the occasion. When you meet him there, your hair is perfectly styled, make-up just enough to make your face more defined, and the dress hugs your curves and shows off your cleavage, drawing a nice, long stare from your smoking hot boyfriend.

"You look stunning, my dear," he murmurs, checking your wrap and his coat before leading you to the table.

"Thank you, love." Dinner is marvelous, the wine fantastic, and the company's not bad either. You hold hands on the table, nudge knees under the table, and have to resist the urge to start making out in the middle of the place over a shared dessert of chocolate cake. However, the best comes after the waiter clears the table and you're just sitting there smiling at Mycroft. He clears his throat after a few moments, a faint blush creeping into his features. "I have something to say, my dear."

All you're suddenly aware of is how fast you're heart is beating. _He can't be_...

"We've been together for three of the most wonderful years of my life, and I am certain that there is no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my years with." You watch in amazement as the British Government stands and then gets down on one knee, producing a box from the inside of his jacket pocket. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

He opens the box, a gorgeous diamond ring winking at you in the candlelight. "Oh my god... y-yes... yes, Mycroft, _yes_!"

He slips it onto your finger, admiring it before kissing the back of your hand, and you don't think you've ever seen him smile like this. You take his face in your hands and kiss him hard, all of your emotions pouring out through your lips. It's very hot, your tongues dueling for dominance as you try and get closer and closer. "Do... do you think... they disapprove of sex in the loo?" you gasp into his ear when you break for air.

"Probably... but they know me here. They'll be discreet."

"Good because if you don't fuck me in the next sixty seconds, I'll tell Sherlock that you were the one orchestrated the ear hat in the first place."

"You wouldn't-"

"Oh, but I would. Now, would my fiancé like to fuck me rough and dirty against a wall?"

"Only if my fiancée can keep her screaming to a minimum."

"You love it when I scream."

"We _are_ in public."

"True."

Mycroft practically drags you through the place to the loo, letting the both of you in and locking you in. "Now... where to begin?"

"Are you being obtuse? If you're having that much trouble, pretend I'm a prostitute."

He gives you a stony look.

"Okay, fine. You're killing the mood, Mycroft... guess it's the ear hat story after all-"

"I'm just deciding on the best way to fuck you to give you optimal pleasure and ensure that I leave a few marks of my own."

"For a genius, you're taking an awful long time-"

But Mycroft is done thinking now and silences you with a rough, searching kiss, his hands tugging your knickers off and hoisting you up against the wall. You fumble with his belt and trousers, pushing them down as you wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. He's already hard and nudging against you, hot and pulsing. You whimper in his ear, trembling. "Please... don't make me wait... _Mycroft_..."

It takes a bit of shifting, but soon he's lowering you onto his cock and filling you and you barely have any time to adjust before he's fucking you against the wall, his mouth at your neck, marking you. His name is a prayer on your lips, whispered into his ear as he leaves a trail of love bites down your neck and across to the other side, almost like a necklace of dark pearls.

Both of you are really too keyed up for it to last; that can happen later, and after a few moments, you're coming, biting his shoulder to stifle your scream as you feel him crest and spill into you, hot and slick. He stills, breathing heavily into your ear as you clutch him close, panting and giggling softly. "Oh fuck... oh god... I love you, Myc."

"And I love you, my darling."

"Take me home?"

"Anything you wish."


	136. Obeying Master's Wishes- Mycroft, Anthea, and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: - Dom!Anthea and Dom!Mycroft bring their subs together for some fun times, reader being Mycroft's sub.

It's after one of your 'play' sessions that your Master brings up something that you've been pondering, lately.

"Pet... do you remember Anthea?" he asks. You nod, and he grins. "Good girl. Well, I recall how _impressed_ she was with your performance when she joined us, so she's set up a play date with _her_ pet as well. It's for next Thursday, and it will be in our private playroom," he says. You nod again and rest your head on his thigh, in a show of understanding and subservience. "Good girl," he murmurs, running his fingers through your sweat-damp hair.

oOoOo

The week drags on and on, until finally, at about 3:30 in the afternoon on Thursday, you get the text from your Master.

 _The Old Bailey at once. Sending a car to pick you up_.

You smile and already feel yourself growing slick at the prospect of this play date. The sleek black car makes its way silently through the streets of London and you pull up in front of the Old Bailey within fifteen minutes. You hurry your way through the halls and knock in the code that Mycroft taught you. He opens the door and guides you with a hand to the small of your back to the special playroom that is hidden behind a wall panel in his office. You wordlessly begin to strip, folding your clothes neatly (again, as he's taught you), and putting them aside. Mycroft is setting out the crop and the belt, as well as the padded shackles that secure into the wall and ceiling. You sink to your knees, awaiting your instructions. He smiles at the sight of you waiting, and he cups your chin in his hand when he's done. "I have special orders for you, pet... make sure you impress Anthea's," he tells you. You nod... anything for him.

You sit there waiting for about three minutes when the special knock comes again. Mycroft lets Anthea in, her sub walking behind her. You nearly forget yourself and make a noise; oh sweet baby Jesus, her sub is _Sherlock_ , Mycroft's younger brother. You can't believe it; you adore Mycroft, but you could never help fancying the other man, with his dark curls and the piercing eyes that his brother had as well. He cocks his head and his eyes rove over you, naked and exposed, on your knees. Anthea smiles at you.

"Good to see you again, little pet," she says, running her fingers through your hair. "I've brought mine with me, and Mycroft and I are just _so_ eager to see how you two... _play_ together." You swallow hard and nod, causing her to chuckle. She moves away and instructs Sherlock to strip, which he does with efficient movements, folding and setting aside his clothes as well. Mycroft nods at you and gestures slightly with his hand. You know the signal well, and you rise to your feet, arms bent and hands clasped behind your back, eyes downcast. "Don't be shy, Sherlock... say 'hello' to Mycroft's pretty pet," Anthea says. You risk a look upwards and Mycroft nods. You adopt a relaxed pose as Sherlock walks forward, eyes fixed on you.

He glances back at Anthea and she nods once. "Hello," he says, that deep baritone resonating through you. You swallow hard and look at Mycroft, who gives his permission. "Hello," you murmur back, your heart pounding. Anthea is regarding you both and she smirks.

"Mycroft... I think your pet fancies mine," she says. Mycroft immediately looks like he's bitten into a lemon, but says nothing. You continue to stand there, looking up into Sherlock's ice-blue eyes (he's _tall_...), not moving until you are ordered to. Mycroft nods at you and you shift forward, wrapping your arms around Sherlock, resting your head on his chest, pressing the line of your body to his, bare skin to bare skin. Sherlock seems, momentarily, taken aback, before he schools his features into cool indifference once more. But his body reacts to your warmth, and you feel his cock twitch against your belly. Anthea snickers.

"He's so uptight, it's hilarious. She won't bite unless she's ordered to, Sherlock dear. Go on, hug her back," she instructs him. He wraps his arms around you and you feel him rest his chin on top of your head. Your heart pounds faster and you can't help but close your eyes as you feel him against you.

"That's quite enough," Mycroft says, his voice lazy but the barest hint of steel underlying it. "We're here for a purpose, are we not? Go stand under the hook," he instructs you, and you disengage your grip from Sherlock and obediently raise your arms as Mycroft secures your wrists in the shackles. You're nearly standing on tiptoe, your body a taut line of flesh and muscle.

Sherlock is behind you and you hear Anthea murmuring instructions to him, too low for you to catch them. Then you hear the loose slither and slide of the belt being pulled off of its cushion and your breath quickens with anticipation. "Ooooh, she's so _eager_ for it," Anthea says. "Be sure to punish her well, Sherlock, or you'll be denied of her... charms."

"Yes, Mistress," you hear him say. Then there's the slight whistle and the loud smack and the burning sting of pleasure as the leather of the belt hits your backside. You bite your lip and rock up on to your toes with the force of the blow, tears starting to your eyes. Sherlock is very strong; you know that if he used his _full_ strength, you'd probably be bleeding. Two, three, four strikes more and you're panting.

"Sing for us, pet... let us hear you cry out," Mycroft commands. When the belt hits your bottom, you obey, letting loose your whimpers and moans. Sherlock is halted after he's reached twenty strikes and you're granted a brief reprieve, tears of pain and pleasure running down your cheeks.

"Aw, look at it, Sherlock, you made her _cry_ ," Anthea says, her tone gently mocking. Sherlock looks a bit perturbed, but you give him a watery smile to let him know that you're all right. Mycroft gently lets you down from the hook, your legs wobbling a bit from the whipping you've received. You sink to your knees, awaiting his orders. He confers with Anthea for a moment before smirking.

"Your turn to do the punishing, pet," he says to you. "We want you to / _tease_ / him."

"Yes... that'll be _fun_ ," Anthea says, grinning. "You get to try and figure out all his weak spots, make him putty in your hands." You swallow hard and squirm in your place. You may be ordered to do it, but you are most _certainly_ going to enjoy this. When you get the nod from Mycroft, you rise to your feet and walk over to where Sherlock is now shackled to the hook in the ceiling. You look at him for a moment, silently admiring the whiteness of his skin and the easy play of muscles beneath it, and then you press your mouth to his shoulder. You trail kisses along his collarbone and neck and back down again, this time adding the slight scrape of teeth. That makes him draw in a quick breath, so you add that to your list. You move up his neck again to claim his mouth with yours and he kisses you skillfully, using his tongue and lips to his advantage. You wind your fingers through his hair and tug, and that makes him moan and arch towards you. You add that beneath the first item on your mental list as you move your mouth down his neck again, being sure to use your teeth even as you pull on his hair. He lets out a groan that sounds like the word 'More' and you can't help the rush of heat that floods your body.

You recall the hug you gave him earlier and repeat the action, this time feeling just what you're doing to him; his cock is fully erect and pulsing slightly, hard and hot against your lower belly. You rock against him before sliding down, trailing kisses as you go, avoiding his arousal on purpose. You keep up this behavior, either ignoring or just barely touching him where he's most sensitive until he's fairly snarling, his blue eyes snapping with need. You're not unaffected either, though; your wetness is dripping down your thighs and you ache to have him inside you. You're sure that you're going to unravel at the slightest touch.

"Enough," Mycroft's voice cuts through the air like a saber. You turn and stand, facing him. "Anthea, dear, I believe that I've had enough of a play date for the day," he says, his voice sounding tight. Anthea smirks and lets Sherlock down; he's red-faced and his arousal is so hard that it looks painful.

"But Mycroft, my pet has been _so_ good, as has yours. Surely you can at least let them have a brief reward? I don't want him damaged, after all," she says. Mycroft fumes, but nods.

"Hands only," he concedes. You're on each other in a flash, your hand circling around Sherlock's manhood and his long fingers pressing into your wetness. It doesn't take long at all for him to come, groaning deep in his chest as you stroke him. You shatter nearly as quickly as he pumps his fingers inside of you, clenching around him as you cry out breathlessly. Anthea fetches Sherlock and gives him a flannel to clean himself up with, and Mycroft does the same to you. You both get dressed and Anthea leaves the room, followed by Sherlock who fixes you with one last look, so intense that it makes you blush. You're alone in the playroom with Mycroft, and he doesn't look pleased.

"We are going to go home," he says, his voice still carefully controlled, "and there, I'm going to remind you of just _who_ is your owner." You raise your eyebrows. Mycroft is... jealous?

"Permission to speak freely, Master?" you ask. He looks hard at you before he nods. "Sherlock may be your brother and a good pet, but _you_ are my _Master_ ," you say, sinking to your knees fully clothed and looking up at him. He blinks, then allows a small smile to slide onto his face. He gently pulls you to your feet and presses a soft kiss to your mouth.

"I know," he murmurs into your ear. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to pass up the opportunity to fuck you blind into any solid surface once we get home." You shiver with anticipation... you can hardly wait.


	137. No Bed? No Problem- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MrsJohndontcallmeMaryWatson: John helps his girlfriend find a flat. It's empty. Shagging takes place??

"So, what do you think?"

You take one last look around the empty flat, a smile creeping across your features. "It's perfect. I'll take it."

John squeezes your hand as the landlady grins at you and hands you the key. "First month's rent is due in a week, and the deposit is due when you move your things in, dear."

"Thank you so much!"

She heads downstairs, closing the door behind her, and John sweeps you into his arms, spinning with you as you giggle and throw your head back. "My own place... god, John, thank you so _much_!"

"It's not a problem. Mrs. Turner had an opening, and I knew this place would suit you," the doctor replies, beaming at you.

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that you live next door."

He feigns a look of innocence. "I've no idea what you mean."

"Uh huh. Sure. So, are you going to kiss me? In my new flat? Which is next door to yours? Meaning I can visit whenever I want? And you can escape here when Sherlock's being a prick?"

"Of course I am." John sets you down and strokes your face with one hand before kissing you gently, still smiling against your lips. You fairly growl and drag him through to what will be your bedroom, shutting the door an almost attacking him, shoving him to the floor.

"What... are you doing?" John asks, slightly winded.

"I'm going to fuck you where my bed will go," you whisper in his ear; he lets out a groan and fumbles with his zip. "Hurry up, then."

You shimmy out of your jeans and knickers, kicking your sandals off, and when you turn back to your gorgeous ex-soldier boyfriend, he's half naked and aroused, laying back on the carpet. You straddle him and tease, grinding gently against him until he's fully hard and glaring. "You're worse than Sherlock sometimes."

"So you _have_ slept with him?"

John turns beet red. " _No_!! He can just-just be... and insufferable tease. That's what I meant."

"You think I care? When _I'm_ the one who gets to fuck you right now?" You grasp his erection and position yourself, sinking onto him and taking him completely into your body. He's very hot, thick, and you can feel his pulse inside you as you begin to move, bouncing in his lap. John's hands grasp your hips, eventually helping him take control of the pace. He snaps his hips up, thrusting deeper into you than you were managing to take him before.

"Harder... harder _please_ , John."

"I'm-trying... floor's really flat."

"Not-an-excuse... ahrightthere!!!!"

"Yeah? Then come on... come for me, love."

His hand thumbs your clit, and you're gone, shuddering and clenching around him, tightening enough that he follows, filling you as you collapse onto him. The pair of you are sweating and panting on the floor; you start giggling first, the thrill of everything still humming in your body.

"What is so... funny?"

"Mrs. Turner's room? Preeeeety sure it's right below this one."

"So we just-"

"Yes. Yes we did."


	138. Rain Dance- Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was one of mine, actually. I realized we'd never done anything in the rain or about rain. Thank you, LadyCorvidae.

It is, in your personal opinion, one of the hottest days that England can cook up. Your clothes are sticking to your body, your little cottage doesn't have air conditioning, and the heat is so bad that it has caused the power to die. Inside is even worse than outside, the walls trapping the heat and making you absolutely miserable, so you trudge your way outside, the drying grass crunching under your bare feet, to sit in the shade of the massive oak that overhangs your back yard. You flop down under it with a sigh. Actually, it isn't that bad out here. Your eyes drift shut as you hear the sound of the grasshoppers and crickets singing under the late afternoon sun.

"Real bastard of a summer, yeah?" You hear the low voice coming from your right. You turn your head and blearily open your eyes, and are you _ever_ glad you did. Your neighbor, a gorgeous, towering blonde named Sebastian ("Please, call me Seb,") who looks like he is hewn out of rock, is in his swim trunks and a white wife-beater tank top, watering his garden.

"Understatement of the year," you drawl as you roll over on to your stomach to face him. "Just wish it would _rain_ or something, break this god-awful heat." He hums in agreement. You eye the hose longingly; you didn't have one, and you figure it's too awkward to ask your Adonis of a neighbor to play in the water. You sigh and prop your head up in your hands, letting your eyes drift closed again. They shoot open and you shriek, however, as you feel the sudden shock of icy water against your skin, making you jump in the air. Seb is laughing, nearly bent double.

"You... _arse_ " you fume at him, unable to stay angry, a smile blooming over your face. He smirks.

"Really? _Arse_? Pitiful," he snorts. Oh, it is _on_ now. You stomp over and wrest the hose from his surprised hands and turn it on him. He lets out a shout and splutters as he gets a face-full of water. Your face is smug as you back off a bit to let him clear his eyes.

"Shouldn't have done that, minx," he growls. He takes the hose back and shoves it down your shirt. You squirm and squeal as the cold water makes contact with your skin. The water fight continues until both of your are soaked to the skin and breathless with laughter. Seb finally shuts off the hose as you wring out your hair a bit. He stops and just... _looks_ at you.

"What, do I have dirt on my face?" you ask, furrowing your brows a bit.

"Yeah... hold on, let me get it for you," he says. He crosses the short distance and takes your face in his hands and proceeds to kiss the breath from your lungs. You gasp as best as you're able to and wind your fingers into his wet, curling blonde hair, holding him to you. He rumbles a growl in his chest and parts your lips to gain access to your mouth, exploring it with his tongue. When you finally break to get some air, you know that it isn't just the sun that's making you warm. You want him, _badly_. And, judging by how his swim trunks were tented, he wants _you_ as well. He grabs you gently by the arm and pulls you to a secluded area of his garden, to a little grotto of Japanese maples, their long, lush leaves making the perfect covering. He softly pushes you to the ground and cages you with his body, kissing you once more, his hands wandering this time. You help him peel your soaked shirt off of you, and you work at removing his as well. They're cast aside as you explore each other's bodies. You arch your back and hiss as his mouth roams down your neck, teeth scraping gently along your collarbones as his hands work at removing your bra. As soon as it's off, he takes one nipple into his mouth, tugging at it gently and running his tongue around it in maddening circles. You can't help the little noises that escape your throat, and your hands scrabble at the waistband of his trunks. He chuckles darkly and helps you along, shimmying out of them as you strip off your shorts and knickers.

You're bare before each other, in the faintly red-tinted light under the leaves of the maples, staring. He really is built like a god, down to his perfect cock that strains upwards from between his legs, twitching slightly. You wrap your fingers around it and tug gently, making him groan and buck into your touch.

"God, I want to be inside you so bad... right _now_ ," he murmurs. You bite your lower lip and nod, spreading your legs apart for him. He slides his fingers along your womanhood first, feeling your slickness and heat. Seb gently presses first one, then two digits inside of you, pumping and curling them, making you hiss through clenched teeth as your fingers dig into the ground.

"Oh please, please!" you beg. "I need you... _Sebastian_ ," He starts at your use of his name and his blue eyes nearly go black with lust.

"And you'll _have_ me," he growls. He removes his fingers and replaces them with the head of his arousal, sinking into you inch by agonizing inch until he's buried up to the hilt. You can feel his ragged breathing against your neck.

"Shit, sweetheart, you're so bloody hot and _tight_ ," he moans, and he begins to move, careful, long strokes that both arouse and frustrate you. You snap your hips up more and he chuckles low in his throat. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" He takes the hint and begins to fuck you in earnest, pounding into you, forcing your breaths out in harsh gasps.

"Oh...! Oh, _fuck_ , Seb, I'm gonna..." you pant, and then you're gone with a full-body shudder and a wail of his name. He snarls like an animal as you clench around him, milking his cock from the inside and he follows you over that edge, soaking you with his seed. He's barely slipped out of you when a great flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder pierces the sky, and the heavens open. You both quickly gather up your clothes, hurrying your way to his house through the deluge.

"You wanted it to rain, and it did... guess that instead of a rain dance, we did a rain fuck. Although..." he says, a pondering look on his face, "I don't know if once is enough for it to be certain..."

"No, I think we need a lot more practice. What about you? I bet you have all _sorts_ of moves you could show me," you say, a wicked smirk curving your lips. He laughs.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea."


	139. Stroppy Git and Silver Fox- Sherlock and Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dartmoorsfinest: Request, please: SHERSTRADE! The Reader is John's ex girlfriend and they just broke up. She goes by 221B to get some of her things while John is at the surgery. Lestrade and Sherlock are there, maybe arguing over something and she gets in the middle, and they all shag like rabbits? I'd love DP but anything is good!

So, it's official now. You and John Watson are no longer a thing, an item, dating, shagging, what have you. As far as break-ups go, it's not the worst you've ever been through; he was actually fairly understanding and all, even though you told him the main reason was that he really does seem to care more about his annoying flatmate than you. Actually, John seemed saddened by that... but whatever. He's at work now, and you have to finish getting your things from his flat.

So, you have to now face said annoying flatmate.

_Fuck._

oOoOo

Mrs. Hudson lets you in and gives you a big hug. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, my dear," she murmurs before handing you a small package. "I made some biscuits and thought you might want a few."

"Thanks," you reply. "You really are the best, Mrs. Hudson."

"I think Sherlock's home. And that nice Detective Inspector just dropped by. I don't think he's left yet."

Oh? This could be interesting. You thank her again and head up the familiar seventeen steps to 221B... only to walk right in n a huge row between the consulting detective and the (really, really fucking gorgeous) officer.

"For the last time, Sherlock, you can't just go swanning off with evidence!"  
"If you'd paid the slightest bit of attention, you'd know I did no such thing. John and I simply went ahead and solved the case on our own-"

"AND YOU NEARLY GOT YOURSELVES KILLED! AGAIN!"

"That is hardly my fault, and I don't see what the big-"

"Do you know how much paperwork you leave me with every time you pull a stunt like this, Sherlock? And you never come in to give your statement. I always have to track you down-"

"Boring."

"IT'S PROTOCOL!"

"Then protocol is boring."

You've heard enough. Setting the biscuits down, you stomp over and shove them apart. "SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!"

Well, you hadn't expected that to work as well as it did. Both of them stop shouting and look at you, Lestrade startled and Sherlock completely unfazed. Bloody git.

"I don't care what the two of you are on about, but I have to-"

"He's already put your things in a box with your name on it, sitting just inside the door of his room, all of your clothes, toiletries, knickers, condoms, your toys-"

"SHERLOCK!" You blush a brilliant red and can't even bear to look at Lestrade even though you can feel him staring. Sherlock goes on and explains anyway.

"She dumped John yesterday and waited until he's at work right now to come and get her things."

"Yeah, because his flatmate's a right prick," you mutter. Lestrade snorts, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. Still blushing, you dart upstairs and return a few moments later with the box. Both men are still standing where you left them. "Okay, I'll see you never, Sherlock-"

"Wait... do you really have all those things he said in that box?"

Oh god, you're going to die. Greg Lestrade just essentially asked you if you have condoms, lube, and toys in your hands; your responding blush answers his question. He walks forward a few steps, clearly checking you out now. "Well... I'm now single, and you've just dumped your boyfriend, so you are as well... care to take them for a spin? Wouldn't want them to gather dust or go in the bin."

You are completely speechless and want nothing more than to melt into the floor, even though you are also so turned on that you can barely see straight now. "Please, Lestrade, can you see the way she's looking at you? If you'd met her first instead of John, then she'd certainly be dating and shagging you. Ugh, boring."

"How would you know if it's boring? Bet you've never done it." _Fuck, fuck, fuck, just shut up_!!!! Sherlock's staring at you now with a very defiant tilt to his head.

"Is that a _challenge_? I have actually had sex before... contrary to my brother's belief, I am not a virgin."

"Prove it, then."

"Wait, I don't think-"

"Oh do shut up, Greg." Sherlock pushes past the DI and backs you against the wall, his piercing blue eyes raking down your body. "I'm a far better lover than either John or our dear Detective Inspector, I think you'll find."

"Well, that's funny. I've never had sex with Greg."

"Then what if we take you together?"

"SHERLOCK-"

"Oh, please, you know you want her." The detective looks back at you. "So? How about it? Direct comparison? Right here. Right now. We've nothing better to do."

"I have _paperwork_ -"

"Which isn't going anywhere. But if that hard on gets any worse, you won't be able to leave Baker Street until you take care of it."

Greg might actually be blushing more than you now; he kneels down and opens the discarded box, extracting what they will need. "Are you just gonna have her right here, then?"

"We could use the bed, I suppose."

"Would certainly make it easier if we are, as you say, doing this together you big arse. Seeing as you're taller."

"If you both keep talking, I'll just take my vibrator and do it myself."

You've never seen two men's attentions snap to you faster, or eyes go darker. "Bedroom, Sherlock. _Now_."

The detective drags you through to his room, Greg on his heels. They shut the door and drop the supplies on the bed before turning to you and circling, trying to figure out the best way to get going.

"You should be underneath."

"Why?"

"You're more solid. And I may be taller, but I'm lighter."

"Or, you stroppy git, you could stand and I could lie down, reduce my chances of getting crushed."

"Which one do you want?"

"Uh _duh_. Which do you think?"

"Oh, of course. Stupid. Right, strip her, then."

"Can't... can't I get a-a kiss, first?"

Greg doesn't need any more prompting. The silver fox takes your face in his hands and claims your mouth, working you over so expertly you think you may, in fact, melt into the carpet. Sherlock's fingers and working to pull your clothes off, making it difficult to stay connected with Greg, but once your blouse is off, everything is fine. Your fingers fumble with his buttons, and he finally has to help, breaking the kiss as you giggle at how surreal this all is. Your hands run over his chest once it's bare, and you can feel heat radiating from a naked Sherlock behind you... oh god.

He starts kissing your shoulders, his clever mouth caressing your skin as Greg takes your mouth again; the detective might be a right and proper git, but you can't deny he has a talented mouth. They both help push your jeans down and off, your knickers sliding off at the same time. Greg follows suit, and now the three of you are naked, with you sandwiched between the two detectives. "Greg, on the bed. Have to work her open."

The DI lies down, his legs hanging off the edge of Sherlock's bed, tearing open a condom packet and rolling the protection on. He has you straddle him and then lays back so that you both are chest to chest and he's bearing your weight... although, it doesn't seem to bother him. If anything, Greg just looks pleased with himself now, especially when he kisses you, moaning into your mouth. Of course, his noises only serve to turn you on even more.

You're not aware of Sherlock in all of this, not until his slim, violinist fingers probe your arse, cold and slick... he's lubed them. Now you see where this is going. You can feel Greg trapped between his belly and yours as Sherlock slips a single finger into you, very gently working you open. He pumps and curls it until you're whimpering into Greg's kiss before adding a second... and then a third. Each time the burn is slowly replaced with a tingling sensation, with pleasure, and if his cock is anything like his fingers, you won't be lasting long.

Once Sherlock deems you ready, he has you maneuver onto Greg, finally taking the DI into your body. He's hot and _hard_ , stretching you in ways John never did (fuck, he's bigger and thicker than your ex), but once you're lying flat again, Sherlock starts to press into you from behind, stretching you even more until you have both of them fully seated inside. It hurts a little bit, and you squirm but that just makes them shift in you and you gasp, pleasure going through you. They spend several moments working out a rhythm, griping with each other, you caught in the middle, but after a little trial and error, they get going, thrusting in counterpoint so that there is always one of them in you at all times.

There is amazing give and take, the three of you grunting and groaning, the wet slide and slap of skin filling the room, Sherlock's fingers digging into your hips, Greg's hands in your hair as he kisses you over and over again, and it's his mouth you scream into when you shatter. You pull Sherlock's climax from him as you clench and tighten, his thrusts stuttering and then slowing as he fills the condom. Greg keeps going, fucking you harder and faster until not only does he climax with your name on his lips, but he brings you over a second time. It takes a few minutes for you to get your breath back, the two of them helping clean you up and Sherlock throwing your clothes at you. "All right. Take your things so they don't clutter up the sitting room."

You glare at him. "Really? After all that you're going to be a prick?"

Greg chuckles. "Is he every anything else?"

"No, I suppose not."

The detective shakes his head and dresses himself. "Oh, and you might want these." He tosses your knickers at you and strides from the room. You glance at the DI and dissolve into giggles.

"Do you want to go for a pint?"

"Oh god yes."


	140. German- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You shall all be benefitting from a bit of a language kink we discovered today. Google Translate got quite the workout. I have a few chapters coming up soon, but this one is LadyCorvidae.

You're blindfolded and your limbs are splayed out, tied to each post of the great four-poster bed that dominates your bedroom. You can hear Greg moving around the room, and then you feel the bed dip beneath his weight as he murmurs things in your ear, not English, though. Your breath catches as you hear his distinct growl in German. "Du bist schön so, meine liebe. Ausgebreitet und auf mich wartend, nach mir verzehrend, wartend auf mich, bis ich dich nehme. Wartend, bis ich in dir bin. Denn das ist, was du willst, nicht wahr?" _You're so beautiful like this, my pet. Spread out and waiting for me, wanting for me. Waiting for me to take you. Waiting for me to be inside of you. Because that's what you want, isn't it_?

You have no idea what he's saying, but the hand that runs up your inner thighs and teases at your entrance is clue enough. You gasp and arch into his touch, desperate for him to fill you. He chuckles roughly and moves his hand away, making you whine with frustration.

"Nun, nun, meine liebe. Geduld ist eine Tugend, wie du sicher weißt. Und ich Wette, ich könnte dich ewig warten lassen, gefesselt und gierig. Ich könnte dich den ganzen Tag ärgern und du könntest dich nicht dagegen wehren. Aber ich glaube nicht, dass ich das tun werde. Immerhin liebe ich deine nasse, enge Hitze, genauso wie du meinen Schwanz liebst." _Now, now, love. Patience is a virtue, as you've been taught. And I bet I could make you wait for ages... tied up and needy. I could tease you all day and you couldn't do anything about it. But I don't think I'll do that. After all, I love your wet, tight heat as much as you love my cock_.

You breathe out the one of the only words you know in the language he's speaking. "Bitte..." _Please_. He groans, and you surmise that your breathless plea is enough for him. You feel the bed dip again and then the heat of his cock pushing at the folds of your sex, then burrowing its way inside of you. He takes you rough and fast, hips snapping and fingers digging into your skin, hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his hand. You writhe and arch and scream as he pounds you, his cock reaching every place inside you and turning you mad with pleasure. With a low growl of your name, he comes, filling you with his seed, setting you over the edge as you feel him pulse and twitch inside of you. You moan his name and he hisses as you clench and flutter around his sensitive cock before he pulls out and, ever the gentleman, cleans you up. He removes the ropes and blindfold and you settle next to him, the both of you still panting. You smile into his brown eyes and his own lopsided grin as you say the only other thing you know.

"Ich liebe dich," you murmur. _I love you_. He nuzzles your skin before he rumbles his response.

"Ich liebe dich auch." _I love you too_.


	141. Disobedient Tiger- Jim and Seb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by MrsJohndontcallmeMaryWatson: More JIM AND SEBASTIAN BEING SEXY FUCKING KILLERS! Maybe Jim is in love and Sebastian is jealous so the girl brings them all together? (I am not gonna lie, my brand new GIRLFRIEND, known here as 'Startwiththeridingcrop' was a great source of inspiration for how I wrote Jim in this chapter. I even bounced ideas off her aka 'What would her Jim do in this situation?' I love you, Babe. This chapter is dedicated to both the requester and to you)

There is nothing quite like doing a job with Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. The consulting criminal is like sin and temptation in a Westwood wrapper, and you don't even want to get started on Seb in all skintight black with his leather jacket and a gun over one shoulder. The pair of them are the perfect team: twisted, dark, dangerous... and you're head over heels for them.

It's one night after a particularly difficult job, Jim's brain clearly in overdrive as he works hard to keep everything together, Sebastian wielding the rifle as if it were made of fire and all the clients dead and bleeding on the floor that it happens; the Irishman seizes you in his arms and kisses you deeply, his tongue greedy and hands deceptively strong for his slight frame. Your hands are buried in his perfectly styled hair so that when you break from the embrace, he looks a bit rumpled, not quite as put together as usual. The sniper, on the other hand, looks vaguely even more murderous than before.

The way his blue eyes are boring into you as if he wants to gut you right there has your face heating, and Jim notices about two seconds after you. "Awww, Tiger, wipe that pout off your face. Little Pet here has had wandering eyes, so I'm _sure_ she won't object if we... share. Would you, Pet?"

Your head snaps back to your boss, your eyes going wide. "N-n-no. No sir."

Seb looks slightly mollified now, perhaps a bit more hungry than angry or deadly, but with him you can never be too sure.

"Well! That's settled then. Now... do my Pet and Tiger want to go home?"

oOoOo

You've never been to their flat before, and you have to say that you're a little bit intimidated with it now that you're here. Everything is clearly expensive and must have cost a fortune... of course, you know how that fortune is acquired. Jim leads you both into the sitting room, Seb nudging you out of the way (clearly still very jealous). The Irishman then spends several minutes just undressing you and Sebastian with his eyes, his grin getting wider and more hungry by the second.

Finally, the sniper snaps, snatching you by the wrist and tearing down the hall. You can hear Jim's feet right behind, but Sebastian is just that much faster. He tears into what has to be the consulting criminal's bedroom and slams the door, locking it and sliding a chair under the handle.

"Now, now, Tiger. I think we've learned enough to _share_ , hm?" Jim's voice is deadly soft on the other side of the wood, the same tone of voice he uses right before a victim is holding his guts in his hands.

"Yeah, I'll share. Soon as I'm finished with her."

Your jaw drops as the blonde shoves you against the door and claims your mouth himself, his lips rougher but no less skilled than Jim's (they might actually even be better). His callused hands are tearing at your clothes, ripping them off and piling them in the corner until you're completely naked; all he does is whip himself out of his trousers and pants, not bothering to undress all the way. "I'm going to have you like the little slut you are. Giving us both the eyes all the time, thinking you can just have your merry little way with us. Time to put you in your _place_."

He grabs your hips and lifts you, nudging his fully erect cock against your pussy as you squirm, whimpering shamelessly; you're completely wet as one of your favorite fantasies is finally coming to fruition. In one swift movement, Seb thrusts into you, your head falling back against the door as you moan his name.

As the blond sniper begins to roll his hips, taking your fast and rough, you're vaguely aware of tapping on the other side of the door as well as softly muttered threats, but none of them are very clear until a particularly sharp thrust makes you cry Seb's name, helped along by the fact that he's currently sucking what will be an impressively large love bit into your skin.

"Tiger... Daddy's had _enough_ now..."

You don't think the man fucking you within an inch of your life hears it, but he releases your neck and snarls into your ear, "Scream, my perfect little whore... I want to be sure he can hear what I'm doing to you."

That's all you need before you're coming, literally screaming Sebastian's name so that the room seems to echo; he follows soon after, yours a groan on his lips as he spills into you, slicking your insides with his hot release. You're trembling slightly as he sets you down on unsteady legs before finally unlocking the door and letting Jim into the room.

The Irishman walks very slowly, his hands in his pockets, his face completely unreadable. He walks right up to Sebastian (completely ignoring you) and yanks the blonde down, crashing their lips together in what has to be a bruising kiss. Jim dominates the older man completely, his hands tugging the curly hair, lips and teeth and tongue all over... just a distraction. In a flash, he rips Seb's hunting knife from his trouser pocket, flicking it open and holding it to the blonde's chin. " _Don't_ move, Moran." Jim then proceeds to cut Seb's clothes away, leaving the larger man completely bare and, once again, staring down the point of the knife. "On the bed. Arms and legs spread. Don't move once you've done this. Am I _understood_?"

You see Seb's eyes briefly flash with anger and defiance before he obeys, lying down on the bed spread-eagled (although... it _is_ rather a nice view). Jim is busy, retrieving handcuffs and rope, cuffing Seb's wrists to the bedposts by his head, and binding his feet to the ones at the foot of the bed. The sniper is completely immobilized before Jim turns to you, his mouth curling into a grin.

"Now, now pet... Tiger's been _ever_ so naughty. Forgot who his keeper and master is. But _you_ know, don't you?"

What else do you do? You nod. "You are, sir."

" _Exactly_. Now, one the bed, hands and knees between Tiger's legs but don't touch unless I say so."

Following his orders and not looking at Seb, you crawl onto the bed, waiting for Jim to arrange you exactly how he wants. The Irishman takes his time in stripping, hanging up the suit, putting his shoes away, but he keeps his tie with him before climbing up onto the mattress behind you. He loops the tie around your neck, leaving it loose enough that you can breathe but tight enough to remember it's there.

Without warning, Jim seizes you by the hair and pushes your head down. "Take Tiger in your mouth like a good little slut. Get him nice and hard for Daddy."

It doesn't take as long as you think it will, and Seb is clearly getting off to watching Jim dominate you the way he is. Before long, you can feel the blonde hardening against your tongue, his eyes going dark as he tries to thrust up into your mouth, but Jim sees this instantly. He yanks you back and slips something over Seb, making the sniper growl: a cock ring.

"There. Now Tiger gets to watch as Daddy fucks his little slut." You feel your boss nudge against you, very hard himself before sliding into you achingly slowly. "Oooo, Tiger left it so _slick_ for me. Thank you, Sebby."

You see the blonde's face contort before your own eyes snap shut with the suddenness of Jim's next thrust. He sets a brutal pace, pounding into your already sore sex, his fingers digging into your hips... and all the while, he's talking.

"Little slut likes when Daddy gives it to her, doesn't she? You love it when I pound your pussy like this, making you ache. It makes you even hotter knowing that the man who just had you is watching and getting harder by the second, doesn't it?"

You whimper, trying to drop your head but he just yanks it back, arching your neck. " _Doesn't_ it?"

"Y-yes... Boss."

"Good. Daddy likes to hear that. Daddy likes to know he is appreciated, that his pets obey him. Like you... you're going to come for Daddy... right _now_."

Sure enough, you do, shattering and crying Jim's name as he fucks you steadily through your climax and then doesn't stop. You're positive you're dripping onto Sebastian, the duvet, but still Jim doesn't stop.

"Watch, Tiger. Watch how I work. Watch how I fuck our little whore. Hear her scream _my_ name. And know that things are done _my_ way."

You have no idea what Seb responds because you, somehow (and this has never happened before) are coming for the third time that night, positive you are literally going to melt into a puddle of goo, but thankfully Jim follows, filling you until he is completely spent, waiting until he starts to go soft before pulling your neck to one side and marking you, giving you a twin bruise to match Seb's.

Jim eventually slips out of you and cleans himself up, doing the same for you before helping you off the bed. He glances to Sebastian. "I might come back for you later. Or not. Sweet Dreams, 'Bastian." Leading you from the room, the consulting criminal shuts the door... but that doesn't mute the violent stream of curses on the other side of the wood as Jim leads you to another bedroom.


	142. In Your Picnic Basket- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by sexandthesitting: lovemaking outside. Maybe after a picnic? I see John for that one.

"This is _perfect_ ," you tell your boyfriend as you haul a picnic basket up a slight hill. He's grinning from ear to ear, a bottle of wine in one hand and the blanket under the other arm. "Hurry up, John!" you call over your shoulder. He laughs.

"All right, all right! Slow down," he calls, hot on your heels. You make it to the top of the hill and settle under the great sycamore tree that crowns it. It's a brilliant day in October, nearly unseasonably warm. You're out in the country (visiting his sister and her girlfriend) and there are trees blazing with color, as far as the eye can see.

"Wow," you breathe as you set the picnic basket down. John starts spreading out the blanket and you unpack the food. It's a lovely spread, good homemade bread and some leftover ham, Swiss cheese and spicy mustard along with some sweet red grapes. John uncorks the dry white wine and pours it into the plastic glasses that are nestled in between the napkins. He hands you one and lifts his in a toast.

"To a beautiful day, spent with a beautiful woman," he says. You blush and clink your glass against his.

"Spent with a beautiful _man_ ," you say, grinning. He laughs and you each drain your wine before starting in on the food. You make short work of the sandwiches and then take your time with the fruit, feeding each other. Then you just get silly, throwing grapes at each other to try and catch them in your mouth. It doesn't work, more than half the time, and on John's last attempt, he manages to get one lodged in the cleavage that your blouse exposes. You blink and stare at each other for a second, then burst out laughing.

"Here, let me get that for you," he says, and there's that twinkle in his eye. You concede, wondering what exactly he's thinking of. He ducks his head and removes it with his teeth, the brush of his breath and his mouth warm on your skin making you gasp.

"John Hamish Watson, you're incorrigible!" you say, mock-sternly. He flashes you a cheeky grin, which makes you chuckle. "Which, of course, is one of the reasons why I love you." You pull him close to you and you share a long, sweet kiss. He tastes of the sweetness of grapes and the tartness of the wine, and very soon, you both end up on the blanket, twined around each other. His hands are tangled in your hair and yours are fisted in his striped cotton shirt. He starts to move his mouth down your neck, which is one of your greatest weaknesses. You arch and mewl as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He groans at the sound.

"God, I want you so badly," he murmurs against your skin.

"Then take me," you breathe. He shoots up to look at you, his eyes so dark that they look black.

"Are you sure? _Positive_?" he asks. You nod, smirking. He groans again. "Oh _god_ , yes." He rucks up your skirt and pulls your knickers down and tosses them aside, then unzips and pulls his hard cock out through the opening of his jeans.

"Ooooh, is this for _me_? How thoughtful of you," you say, palming his erection. He hisses ad thrusts into your touch, bucking even as you guide him into you. You both moan as he sinks into your tight heat, sheathing himself to the hilt.

" _Fuck_ , sweetheart, you're so wet..." he says hoarsely before he starts to move. Your eyes flutter shut, the sunlight burning bright orange through them as he thrusts into you. You undulate beneath him, meeting him as he moves in, pulling away as he moves out, your legs wrapping around the coarse fabric of his denims forcing him closer to you. He moves faster and you can hear his breathing take on a desperate edge. "I'm close," he says, and you nod, feeling your own climax approaching. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder and groans as he drives himself all the way into you, filling you with his seed. This sets you off, making you gasp his name as the orange of the sunlight turns a blinding white as you come, twitching and gasping. You linger on the blanket, a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled clothing, sharing afterglow kisses as you lazily readjust yourselves.

"That was fucking _amazing_ ," he says. You hum in agreement. Then you laugh as a thought strikes you. "What? What's so funny?" he asks.

"Thank God we didn't have ants," you manage to say. His laughter joins yours, ringing over the hills to be carried away by the wind.


	143. Irish- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All LadyCorvidae's idea. I just indulged her: Jim whispering in Irish as he moves his way down your body, stubble rasping softly against your skin as he presses soft kisses and less-than-soft bites to your flesh. Dark hair and dark eyes peering up at you from between your legs as he smirks, blowing gently on your sex, making you squirm. (This is the one that got us started, but I'm writing odds and she's writing evens at the moment. Go figure)

You never imagined you'd be the type to have an affair with a professor, but it is rather hard to resist the charms of James Moriarty. You've been in his 'Irish 101' class for the past few months, and the exam is drawing close the day you stop by his office, knocking on the door. He answers it, stealing your breath as he always does with his marvelous suit, perfect hair, and mischievous smile. "Can I help you?"

"Y-yes. I have a question on the assignment for tutorial tomorrow."

"Of course. Come on in." He steps aside as you make your way into his office. It's cozier than you imagined, books everywhere and a very comfy looking armchair in the corner; it's funny, really. This isn't the kind of space you imagined him to inhabit.

"Well... it isn't, really. But one is... _expected_ to maintain a certain level of decorum in University, wouldn't you agree, bláth beag?" _Little flower_.

A dark blush rises in your face as you feel his hands brush your hips, tapping out a rhythm against you. "Mé le feiceáil do shúile wander sa rang, conas a chuma atá orthu ag dom, conas aisteach go bhfuil siad. Ar mhaith leat mé a thaispeáint duit cad is féidir liom a dhéanamh? Níl níos mó ná tallann don teanga i mo theanga." _I've seen your eyes wander in class, how they look at me, how curious they are. Would you like me to show you what I can do? There's more than a talent for language in my tongue_.

Only about half of what he says translates easily in your brain, but you get the gist of it, growing wet and whimpering softly, trying to remember how to speak. Haltingly, you respond, "Tá ... le do thoil. Ach ... go mbeadh tú póg dom ar dtús?" _Yes... please. But... would you kiss me first_?

"Ar ndóigh." _Of course_. Turning you, Jim takes your face in his hands and brushes his lips against yours, ever so gently before taking your mouth by storm, licking his way in and exploring thoroughly, mapping out your mouth with amazing ease. He has you moaning into him and grasping the lapels of his suit tightly in seconds, breaking the kiss as suddenly as it began. "Suigh."

You sit in the armchair, staring wide eyed as he advances, his gaze dark and predatory. Jim leans over you and brushes his lips against your ear, the stubble noticeable on your skin. "Stráice."

Slowly, you pull off your blouse, not looking at him as you do. He stops you from removing your bra, so you toe off your shoes and slide your jeans down and off your legs. You glance up to see his gaze go straight to your knickers, the smirk on his mouth growing wider as he sees how soaked you are from hearing him talk. Jim leans closer and kisses you again, trailing his mouth down your body now. He pops your breasts from the confines of your bra, laving your nipples one at a time with his tongue before worrying them with his teeth and tugging, making you squirm and gasp his name. You can feel the rasp of his stubble as he kisses down your belly, leaving a string of not-so-gentle bites in his wake. Your professor's nimble fingers pull your knickers down, revealing your sex fully. He grins and blows on it, glancing up at you through his lashes, his hands on your thighs and spreading your legs wider for him.

" Mar sin, fliuch agus go léir dom. Tá mé tógtha, bláth. Tá mé. N'fheadar conas blas tú. Beidh mé a fháil amach?" _So wet and all for me. I'm impressed, flower. I am. I wonder how you taste. Shall I find out_?

Oh fuck. Oh god. You swallow hard and nod, aching to feel his tongue on you, in you.

" Mar sin, adh? Tar anois, bláth. Tabhair dom do fhreagra." _So silent? Come now, flower. Give me your answer_.

"Tá ... cuir in iúl dom a bhraitheann do theanga." _Yes... please let me feel your tongue_.

Jim's smirk widens, showing you his teeth; you have barely any time to register how hungry he looks before his tongue circles your clit and you sink back into the chair, clutching at the arm rests and bucking up against his mouth. Quick as lightning, his hands seize your hips, pinning you to the chair. " Den sórt sin a fraochÚn beag nach bhfuil, tá tú?" _Such a little whore, aren't you_?

" Tá... _tá_ ," you whimper, shaking as he goes back to slowly licking your clit, finally trailing his tongue down the folds of your pussy, teasing them open and lapping up the wetness there. You moan his name, your hands reaching out and stroking his hair. He seems to like that, humming against you and pressing his tongue into your heat. Your eyes snap open and your breath catches, able to feel him thrusting gently into you. " Dia, níos mó, le do thoil!" _God, more, please_!

Jim does give you more, thrusting faster and curling his tongue, making it vibrate in a way you hadn't thought possible, his hands sliding down to lift your legs and spread them even wider. You watch his head bob in your lap for as long as possible before you can't anymore, closing your eyes and biting your hand as your orgasm rocks through you. Jim doesn't stop, only slowing down when you're left twitching in the chair, flushed and rather bedraggled. He cleans you up with his mouth before sitting back, his chin still glistening with your juices. "Cad é do cheist?" he asks, looking extremely pleased with himself. _What was the question_?

You giggle, shaking your head. " Mé dearmad go hiomlán." _I've forgotten completely_.

The professor stands and pulls you to your feet, kissing you again and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. " Téigh in aithne ar dom ar mo bláth carr,. Tá mé roinnt rudaí a glanadh suas, agus ansin ar intinn agam a bheith screadaíl tú i ndán dom an oíche ar fad," he murmurs in your ear after breaking the embrace. _Meet me at my car, flower. I have a few things to tidy up, and then I plan to have you screaming for me all night_.

He's almost forced to keep you standing as your knees buckle slightly. "Rud ar bith a rá leat ... ollamh." _Anything you say... professor_.


	144. Lessons from the Woman- Sherlock and Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: - Sherlock definitely needs more lessons from Irene about how to treat reader in bed.

_"I can give you lessons if you like, Sherly..." -wink-_

_"If I believed in Hell, it would be a cold day there before that would happen, /Miss/ Adler."_

_oOoOo_

_"/Damn it./" -calls up Irene-_

_"Well, shall I assume that Hell has experienced a cold snap, my dear Sherlock?"_

_"Shut up, Adler. When I want your cheek, I'll ask. But... yes. I find myself in need of... /lessons./" -last word said like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth-_

_-after stifling her laughter- "Name the time and place, and I'll give you a lesson you /won't/ forget."_

_"Well, I have to see when she'll be gone... she's something of my assistant, now that John has gone and gotten married... bloody inconvenient..." -huff-_

_"She? Ohhh, Sherlock... you've just found yourself your study partner in my little lesson. Wednesday next at half three good for you?"_

_"Done."_

oOoOo

You arrive back at 221 B only to have a manic (well, more manic than usual) Sherlock pulling you towards the bedroom.

"Sherlock, what in the name of wonder is /going on?/" you ask as he starts pacing, his blue dressing gown flowing behind him.

"I have lessons," he mutters.

"You _what_?" you query, utterly lost.

"He said lessons, pet. From me." The voice that comes from the doorway of his bedroom is sultry and female. You turn to see a woman, impeccably dressed in nothing but the sheerest of black silk. You swallow hard. You're quite comfortable in your sexuality, but she is possibly the most beautiful female you've ever seen. Everything clicks and you turn the brightest shade of red that you think is humanly possible.

"I think I know what lessons they are. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your... ah... _instruction_ ," you stammer, making to go past her. She smirks and catches a hold of your shoulder in a gentle, but firm grip.

"Oooh, no no no, pet. You see, dear Sherlock here needs a study partner. And when he told me about _you_ , well... I thought you'd fit in quite nicely," she purrs into your ear. You whimper as she guides you back into the room and sits you down on the bed. She smiles, all blood-red lips and even, white teeth. "Now, Sherlock, listen carefully; time for the lesson to start. School is in session."

"First lesson: removing a woman's clothes. Usually, we do it ourselves, but it's so much _fun_ when there's a bit of help," she instructs, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, legs primly crossed. She nods, and Sherlock crosses to where you sit, helping you to stand with gentle hands underneath your elbows. You feel somewhat like a statue as he starts to fumble with the buttons of your blouse, a tingle running up your spine. One of his long fingers gently brushes against the skin of your collarbone, and you can't help but gasp slightly. He looks at you, your face flushed and eyes wide and dark, then looks back at Irene, a brow raised.

"Oh, you _are_ clever. That's lesson number two: touch. Gentle is usually the best bet, unless she's like me and she likes it _rough_ ," she says, chuckling a bit. "Don't be afraid to explore. Take your clues from the noises she makes. She'll tell you if she doesn't like something." Sherlock nodded and set back to work, a determined focus to his movements. Soon you're bare in front of him and you can't help but feel self conscious as the only naked person in the room with two fully-clothed other people.

"Even out the playing ground, Sherly. You strip too," she instructs, raising an eyebrow. He glares at her before he sheds his clothing. You take in his bare form, eyes wandering over his frame hungrily. You've had the biggest crush on Sherlock for the longest time, and this is something you've only seen on the insides of your eyelids when you're having one off in the privacy of your own room. Hesitantly you reach out and touch him, his skin warm under your hand. He starts, as if he wasn't quite expecting you to move. Irene laughs.

"Lesson three: let _her_ explore too. New territory for the both of you, hm?" she says, chortling. You don't need another invitation and let your hands roam. He exhales a sharp hiss as your fingers brush over his nipples, and then he reaches out to touch you too. The feeling of his hands on you sends a shiver up your spine and goose bumps down your arms and legs. He moves slowly, like he's memorizing you by touch, then suddenly, his lips are at the crook of your neck and shoulder. You let out a short, startled cry and wrap your arms around his neck in reflex. His hands go to your hips and you can feel his cock coming to life against the soft skin of your belly.

"You're so warm," he murmurs into your ear, and that nearly makes you melt. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Lesson four: learn what she likes. And from that clue, it appears that she likes to hear you _talk_ ," Irene says. You start. You've almost forgotten that she's there, so wrapped up in the 'lesson' you've been involved in.

You can feel his smirk against your skin. "I've heard that lower registers can produce a pleasurable effect in some people, but I didn't know it could be so... ah... _practically_ applied," he says, that baritone making you shiver and squeak. His hands begin to rove more, up to cup your breasts and thumb at your nipples which have peaked from the contrast of the heat of his body and the coolness of the air.

"Good... find out where she likes to be touched. You're the genius, so you know all about erogenous zones. Although when you're done fumbling your way around with her, you can perfect your technique with me," Irene purrs. That causes a hot flash of jealousy to sear through you and you let out a snarl that surprises you. You drag Sherlock's face to yours and you kiss him soundly. He stiffens for a moment before taking the hint and following your example. Soon, his tongue is brushing against your lips and you grant him access to your mouth. Your fingers wind into his dark curly hair and tug lightly, making him groan. He pulls away slightly, blue eyes wide and wild.

" _Again_..." he manages to grit out. You comply, pulling a bit harder, and he very nearly shoves you to the bed. Irene is laughing in the background.

"A quick study! Since you've found out what _you_ like, explore more, Sherly. After all, that rail spike isn't going to take care of itself," she says, eyeing his arousal and smirking. He moves his hands down your body and finds the cleft of your womanhood, already slippery and wet for him. He brushes against the bud of your clitoris, making you arch upward into his touch and gasp. He smiles triumphantly and repeats the action, making you moan. Then that clever hand wanders down and a finger presses into you slowly, curling as he marvels at the heat and tightness of you. He adds another finger and your hands join his, helping him along, showing him how you like to be touched, how to move faster and then slow down as you move your hips in counterpoint. He withdraws and wipes your wetness on the duvet.

"Now for the moment of truth... you know where to put that great lovely cock of yours, don't you?" Irene says, her voice husky. Sherlock nods and lines himself up with you. He flashes a questioning look at you, and you nod frantically. If you don't have him inside of you in the next two minutes, you're going to straddle him and do it yourself. He presses inside of you and his eyes go wide as you envelop him completely.

"Oh... _fuck_ ," he groans, his baritone lower as he adjusts to the feeling.

"That's the point," you gasp, and Irene laughs.

"She's right, you know. Now, move those hips. You'll pick it up, and she'll help you along," she says. You nod again, and he begins to move, rolling his hips and filling you more. You arch up into him, linking your ankles at the small of his back. The next ten minutes dissolve into a blur of heat and sensation; Sherlock is, by far, the largest lover you've had, and you have to admit that the noises you make are obscene. This spurs him on, and he bucks into you, experimenting with speed and force. With one deep thrust, you shatter around him, wailing his name as you pulse and clench. Your orgasm catches him off-guard, the rippling of your inner muscles pulling his own climax from him. He hisses and moans, the sound reverberating in his chest as he fills you with his seed, then collapses on top of you, both of you sweaty and panting. Irene starts clapping softly.

"Well done, Sherlock, well done. Full marks for the both of you," she says, her eyes alight and the faintest blush of color on her porcelain cheeks. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment to keep, and I think watching you two will give me some... further inspiration." She pauses to kiss you deeply before she leaves. "Excellent work, pet... if you tire of him, give me a ring. I'll give you a lesson you won't soon forget," she promises. You stare after her, dumbfounded, as she sashays out of the flat. Sherlock snorts.

"Typical of her," he mutters as he starts to settle under the covers. "Still, her insight was valuable." You yank the covers off of him, and he looks at you incredulously. "What on earth are you doing?" he asks. You grin widely, eyes gleaming.

"Earning some extra credit," you say.


	145. French- Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LadyCorvidae suddenly had visions of Benny or Sherlock whispering sweet nothings in her ear in French. BOOM, prompt.

"Tu l'aimes quand je fais cela, n'est-ce pas? Quand je prendre le contrôle?" _You love it when I do this, don't you? When I take control_?

You nod, your eyes rolling back as his smooth baritone rumbles through you, the words making your entire body heat up like it's been set on fire. He's been away on a shoot in France for three weeks solid, and you've not even spoken once, not until today when he surprised you by returning a full four hours earlier than he'd said, sneaking up on you while you were reading and dragging you into the hall, pinning you to the wall with his body, looming over you. His lips brush your ear, making you squirm something awful.

"Il a été beaucoup trop longue, alors que voulez-vous que je fasse? Je pourrais vous taquiner pendant des heures jusqu'à ce que vous la mendicité pour moi. Je pourrais vous emmener ici et maintenant. Contre le mur, vous ferait plaisir. Je pourrais toujours vous faire glisser vers la chambre à coucher, vas te faire encule aveugle jusqu'à ce que vous êtes en hurlant." _It's been far too long, so what would you like me to do? I could tease you for hours until you're begging for me. I could take you right here and now. Against the wall, you'd like that. I could always drag you to the bedroom, fuck you blind until you're screaming_.

Oh fuck you right then and there that _voice_. Your French is a bit rusty but you manage to pick up the gist of it. "B-bedroom... oh Ben _please_."

He smirks and pulls you after him, tugging you up to the loft and pushing you towards the bed. You frantically tug at your clothes, pulling them off as he strips for you, slowly, teasing you as he reveals his skin. His hair is dark and curly, and you almost love it more like this than you do when he's his normal ginger, but as long as you can bury your hands in it, it doesn't really matter. Ben catches you staring and his expression changes, more predatory, especially when he realizes you're bare for him.

"Une telle peau magnifique que vous avez, tout nu et beau pour moi de goûter et toucher. Vous avez vraiment me manquer, n'est-ce pas? Je serais prêt à parier que vous vous êtes touché et a pensé à moi, utilisé votre jouet adorable et fait semblant que j'étais ici, putain dans l'oubli. Ne le niez pas. Je sais que la vérité. Et je ne vous décevra pas, mon amour." _Such gorgeous skin you have, all bare and beautiful for me to taste and touch. You really have missed me, haven't you? I would bet you have touched yourself and thought of me, used your lovely toy and pretended I was here, fucking you into oblivion. Do not deny it. I know the truth. And I shall not disappoint, my love_.

You never knew he spoke so well, had no clue he was fluent in any language other than English, but he is and it is glorious. He's hard for you as he snags a condom and rolls it on before climbing over you, caging you with his body. You can see the exact shape of his lips, his perfect cupid's bow, the mouth you dream of and the mouth you get jealous of when you see other actresses kiss. Softly, you whisper back, "S'il vous plaît ... Je veux que vous." _Please... I want you_.

Ben's eyes (blue today) go black and he thrusts into you without warning, filling and stretching you as you haven't been in nearly a month, and you've _missed_ it. You gasp his name and he does it again, pinning your wrists and smirking when your eyes go wide. You didn't think he knew you liked to be slightly restrained... and god he's never looked hotter. He pounds into you mercilessly, taking what he needs and bringing you so close to the edge, balanced, ready to fall.

"Venez pour moi. Je veux que tu cries mon nom," he whispers, ( _Come for me. I want you screaming my name_ ), and that is all you need before you shatter, his name echoing in the room; Ben follows soon after, and it is your name you hear on his lips as he spasms, filling the condom and slowing down, finally collapsing on you.

The pair of you are still for a moment in the aftermath before you start giggling. He looks at you, surprised. "Is anything wrong?"

It sounds odd hearing English after all that French. You just smile and run a hand through his mussed, damp curls. "Nothing. That was just quite a nice 'I missed you.'"

"I did... I missed you very much, mon cher amour." _My dearest love_.

Drowsily, you murmur, "Je t'aime," still petting his hair as you finally fall asleep, worn out from waiting for him to come home.

"Je t'aime," Ben murmurs back, cleaning you both up before tucking you in and spooning against you, holding you in his arms until he too joins you in dreaming.


	146. Winning and Losing- Greg and John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: John and Lestrade with a Rugby fangirl.

You can’t help but thrum with excitement; the stadium is packed already with supporters of both teams, and the cheers and chants are deafening. You’ve wanted to come see a rugby match for so long. It was something that your dad had always promised to take you to, but then never had the time. To finally see a match live, not on your television screen… this is fantastic.

You make your way to your chair and find that the two seats next to yours are occupied by some rather fit looking men; one is short and blonde, his blue eyes snapping with anticipation, and the other is an older man with silver hair, an open, rugged face, and kind brown eyes. The both of them look you up and down and smile before introducing themselves as John Watson and Greg Lestrade. You go to chat a little more but are interrupted by the teams coming on to the field.

The match is well played, and you cheer on your respective teams (although you can’t help but be smug when yours wins). The chats between goals are filled with good-natured flirting and insults, tossed back and forth between the three of you. You start to file your way out of the stadium when a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you off to the side. You start to panic, but you see who’s grabbed you: its John, Greg right behind him. The three of you make your way to a very out of the way corridor in the stadium, where John backs you against the wall. Greg pushes him out of the way, his brown eyes shining. “So… our little girl from the enemy ranks,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the feeling of want that sparks down your spine at the sound of his voice in your ear. “You talked awful big up there in the stands, but I can’t help but wonder if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

You can feel him pressed up against you, and you know exactly what he wants. You smirk and arch into him, causing him to groan. “Oh, I think I can do that… and more,” you purr, causing him to groan and grab on to your hips.

Now it’s John’s turn to pull Greg out of the way. “She’s mine first,” he hisses, and you can’t help the little moan that escapes your throat.

"I'm in agreement with Greg. Let's see you put that clever mouth of yours work," he said. You smirk at him and sink slowly to your knees. You gently mouth at the bulge that's shown itself underneath the restricting fabric of John's trousers, making him groan and bury his fingers in your hair. You tug at the zip with your teeth, dragging it down inch by inch. Finally, you're able to free his cock from the confines of his trousers and pants. It's absolutely lovely, thick and veined and dripping slightly. You wrap your lips around the head and hear him hiss at the contact of your warm, wet mouth on his sensitive skin. You tuck your lips over your teeth and begin to move, bobbing and suckling.

"Oh Christ, your mouth..." John manages to say, although any further words that he might have are lost in a deep moan as you move your tongue around his length and swallow him down to the hilt, making the muscles of your throat contract around him. That does it; despite his clear desire to last longer, he spills himself with a hiss and a groan. You pull back slowly, cleaning him off and sitting back on your heels with a very pleased look on your face. John staggers slightly and slumps to the side, breathing hard as he tucks his deflating cock back into his trousers. Greg steps out of the shadows, his eyes intent on you.

"Now it's _my_ turn," he murmurs, pulling you to your feet and pressing you flat to the wall once more. You can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his denims and you arch into him once more. He moans. "Oh, you little minx- don't think that you're going to get off easy," he says, his eyes smoldering. He reaches a hand down and under the waistband of your trousers and knickers both, feeling you wet and wanting. He raises an eyebrow. "Although I wonder if that's going to be a contrary statement. You're soaked, love."

"Then why don't you take advantage of that fact?" you say, your voice breathless as you buck upwards slightly into his touch. He hastily undoes your zip and button, dragging your trousers down as you kick them off and you gasp as he drives two fingers inside you, slowly. He curls them upwards and starts thrusting them, making you shiver.

"Oh, you're tight," he hisses in your ear as his fingers work faster and harder.

"Yeah, and your fingers aren't enough. Please..." you beg. He growls and shoves his trousers and pants down, fishing a condom out of his pocket and rolling it on before he drives all the way inside of you. You gasp and groan, hissing in pleasure as he bottoms out and stretches you.

He hitches your legs up around his hips and you wrap them around him as he starts driving into you, grabbing on to your thighs, his fingers digging into the skin, hard enough to leave bruises. You moan and cry out as he thrusts. "Yessss, that's it love," he groans. You tighten the muscles of your sex and he stutters and gasps, then moves a hand down to caress your clit. That does it- you grab his hair and pull gently. He hisses and empties himself into the condom as you come, moaning. Slowly, he lets you down, moving out of you and removing the soiled condom before he helps clean you up. John is smirking in the background as you nearly fall, and he catches you. "Not a sore winner," Greg says as he does the zip of his trousers.

"Oh, but I think she will be sore," John says.

"Yeah... although if I have you two to help me, I think I can help you be sore losers too.." you say.

Both of their eyes go wide. "I think a rematch is in order," Greg says, chuckling. You agree. A rematch is just what you need.


	147. Among the Artifacts- Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Mycroft in the British Museum (or the V&A) after hours.

You've been at your new job for two weeks when it happens. You're on the night security detail for the British Museum in London, patrolling the ground floor filled with Egyptian pieces, the Rosetta Stone, surrounded entirely by history. You've just finished your first full round of the floor when you hear a door close. It's faint, but you instantly turn on your heel, lifting your torch and creeping back the way you've just come. You round the corner by the gift shop and see a figure in a suit and an umbrella leaning against the wall. One shine of the light on his face has you almost dropping your torch in surprise.

" _Mycroft_?! What the hell are you doing here?"

He smirks, that infuriating know-it-all grin that says he planned for this to happen. "Did you miss me, darling?"

"I thought you were coming back next week."

"Plans changed."

"For the better?"

"Let's just say that crises have been averted, and the Queen's country is safe once more."

You beam, running the rest of the way to his waiting arms, hugging him tight and breathing in his expensive cologne. "It's been hell without you, Myc," you murmur, looking up at him. The British Government just smiles down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It doesn't take you long to figure out what he's thinking.

" _No_. Absolutely not."

"But you _did_ say it's been hell-"

"We're _not_ doing that here! What if we're caught?"

"We won't be caught-"

"But what if we _are_ -"

"You think I've gone the past two weeks without thinking about you? Without wanking in the shower because I've been imagining your mouth? Or your gorgeous pussy?" he whispers, making you shiver. You love when his posh voice starts talking dirty. "And you've been imagining my cock, haven't you?" he adds, a single long finger stroking down the side of your face.

"Y-yes... yes Mycroft... but-"

"Shhhhh." He puts a finger to your lips. "No more words."

You open your mouth again but he takes it with his own in a hot, deep, passionate, eager kiss that has you whimpering against him and clutching at his jacket.

"Better keep quiet," you hear him purr in your ear before he starts tugging at your skirt, pulling it up and shoving you against the wall. He's fumbling with his own zip, and you can see the outline of his cock against the fabric where it's trapped. In seconds he's free and tearing at a condom before lining up with you.

"Hold on."

That's all you hear before he buries himself in your tight heat, and your toy _still_ doesn't do him justice. He immediately claims your mouth again, driving you into the wall over and over again. His hands are in your hair, his body keeping you pinned in place; you're panting into his mouth, rocking against him as best you can, your legs locked around his hips. Both of you are desperate enough that you cum first, clenching tight around his length and dragging him after. Mycroft stills, holding you in his arms while you both struggle to get your breath back. He finally sets you down, helping straighten you up. You make sure you are presentable, smoothing your hair back as best you can. "See you at home, then?"

The last thing you see before he vanishes into the shadows is his grin. "Who do you think is driving you home?"


	148. Dinner and a Show- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is taking you to dinner on Valentine's Day. Really, what could possibly go wrong? thebookworm214's valentine for ladycorvidae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as a Valentine for ladycorvidae... only took me two weeks. I will also post her valentine to me. Regular updates will not resume yet, we're sorry. Work has her tied up in knots, and I'm ready to scream from school. We just wanted you to know we aren't dead and have not forgotten about you. :)

You're just putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup when the buzzer goes off. Scrambling for your purse and coat, you press the button for the intercom. "Come on up, just getting my things together."

"You aren't done yet?"

You roll your eyes. "Not everyone just lives and breathes preparedness, and I wanted to look my best so quit your whinging and let me get my coat!"

To your great surprise, he shuts up, and you pull on your coat before heading downstairs, locking the door behind you. Sherlock looks an absolute dream in his coat and scarf, and you can only hope he'll love your gorgeous knee-length red dress with plunging neckline, hidden for now beneath your coat. The detective hails a cab, and you follow him in, grinning and excited for whatever he has planned.

When you arrive at the restaurant, the waiter immediately seats you both, offering Sherlock the wine list. Your boyfriend doesn't even glance at it.

"We'll have the '89 Cabernet to accompany the alfredo sauce over linguini, not spaghetti. She will have a side of garlic knots, and I will simply share her appetizer so there is no point in asking what else we will have."

The waiter looked slightly stunned as he stammered his understanding and walked away.

"That was a bit uncalled for, Sherlock."

"It was curt and to the point. Why mince words when I know full well what you are in the mood for?"

Somehow, you can't argue with that. The waiter brings and pours the wine, and you notice he brings an extra serving of the garlic knots to the table. Sherlock rolls his eyes at that. "Doesn't listen, only concerned with how soon he can go back and make out with the head chef."

You nearly choke on your wine. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

"The same way I know that the couple to our right is not going to last the week, the Maître 'D just had a very bad breakup, and those two people there-" he points to a blonde with her date in the corner, "-are not sleeping with each other. I _observe_."

"Sherlock, I know how your deductions work-"

"Then why are you asking how I know?"

"It's a figure of speech! I was incredulous!"

He very clearly wants to reply, but his mobile goes off; the genius instantly checks it.

"Sherlock!!"

The detective doesn't even glance at you, typing a rapid reply, seemingly not even paying attention. When the waiter returns with your food, he doesn't even look up from the phone. "He's just using you for sex."

The waiter flushes, starting to protest, but a single look from Sherlock shuts him up. "Your uniform is disheveled, and your socks rolled down. There is a sizeable hickey on your neck, and you keep glancing at the kitchen door. He's leading you on and dangling the promise of sex and a possible relationship over your head." Sherlock puts his phone away and begins to eat. The waiter leaves, returning a few moments later with the manager.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

You sigh, knowing that dinner with Sherlock really was too much to ask for. Your lover opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off before he can do any more damage. "Of course." You stand and glance at the genius. "Move _now_."

For once, Sherlock listens, dropping his cash on the table and sweeping from the place, you close behind.

"What the hell was that, Sherlock?"

"I was simply stating the-"

"The facts have nothing to do with this! You were cruel and insensitive _again_!!! I get that Valentine's day is stupid to you, I _really_ do, but the whole point is just to make a bloody effort to be _romantic_. Right now, you're being as insensitive as-as _Mycroft_!"

Sherlock looks slightly taken aback. "I-I apologize for my insensitivity," he says slowly.

"Apology accepted."

There's a tense silence before he speaks again. "It should help you forgive me to know I have tickets to _Hamlet_ for tonight."

You look at him, hardly daring to hope. "But it's sold out-"

"And you forget who my brother is."

Grinning, you pull Sherlock in for an excited kiss. " _Yes_ , it does help, and we should get moving or we'll be late. C'mon!"

oOoOo

The usher takes your tickets, and Sherlock buys you a program before taking you to your seats. He's gotten tickets for the back of the stalls, even though he _knows_ you prefer to sit closer to the front... but he clearly made an effort on this "illogical, unnecessary holiday created by the consumer industry to turn a profit," so you say nothing. You shrug out of your coat, placing it over your lap to keep your legs warm during the show. A few moments later, the lights dim, and the curtain rises.

You never guessed that Nathaniel Lewis would be such an amazing Hamlet, or that the cast would be so cohesive and perfect as a whole Sherlock is naturally unable to keep quiet, muttering to irritate you until you realize he's only speaking while Hamlet is... oh god... no _way_ does he have the play memorized.

 _"O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!_ __  
Is it not monstrous that this player here,  
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,  
Could force his soul so to his own conceit  
That from her working all his visage wann'd,  
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,  
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting  
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!"

Your mouth goes dry, feeling his breath on your ear and neck. He slowly begins kissing your exposed skin, one hand stroking down your arm and into your lap.

 _"What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,_ __  
That he should weep for her? What would he do,  
Had he the motive and the cue for passion  
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears  
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,  
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,  
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed  
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,  
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,  
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,  
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,  
Upon whose property and most dear life  
A damn'd defeat was made."

The hand in your lap has slipped under your coat, and _now_ you see why he wanted to sit in the back of the theater. He pushes your skirt slowly up your legs before sneaking his hand between your thighs. You stifle a whimper to feel his thin fingers brush your now damp knickers. Sherlock keeps reciting softly in your ear, rubbing you more insistently as the scene goes on until you are so wound up that you could scream.

Moments later, the Act ends, and you drag Sherlock from your seats and into the nearest toilet. Locking the stall, you practically rip his trousers and pants down while giving him a fiery, passionate kiss. "I swear to god, Sherlock, that if you don't fuck me right _now_ -"

He shuts you up with another kiss, hoisting you up and pinning you to the wall. He's very strong for his wiry frame, must be all that running around London with John. He tugs your knickers down and off, pocketing them before rubbing his gorgeous, long cock against your slick folds. You clutch at your lover, whimpering and pleading in his ear. " _Please_..."

With a satisfied smirk, Sherlock pushes in, filling you. You feel his gray-blue eyes on you as your head falls back, and he starts thrusting, supporting you with his arms and the wall. You fight to stay silent, remembering where you are, but when he shifts to hit your G-spot and one hand slips down to your clit, you have to bite his shoulder to muffle your whimpers. Sherlock chuckles and speeds up, mouthing down your neck. He tongues your pulse point as he tweaks your clit. "Cum for me, my fair one."

You are so wound up that you fall over the edge, unable to hold yourself together any longer. His name is a prayer on your lips as you break, pulling him over with you. His release is hot as it pours into you. Sherlock's head drops to your shoulder while he catches his breath. The two of you stay there for a moment before disentangling and cleaning up. He helps you straighten your dress, and you make sure his tie and suit jacket are straight. Before you can open the door, Sherlock pulls you into a deep, searching kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day, my fair one," he murmurs.

You blush. "Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock."

"Excellent. Now, let's get an ice cream."

Giggling, you follow him out of the toilets, ignoring the looks from other patrons in favour of that creamy chocolate treat.


	149. A Night at the Opera- Jim, Seb, and Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your boyfriend takes you to the opera, only for you to run into Jim and Sebastian there. Ladycorvidae's valentine for thebookworm214.

You are horribly, horribly excited- your boyfriend/lover/whatever-he-is, Richard Brook, has secured the both of you tickets to the opera. _Madame Butterfly_ program clutched tightly in your hand, your heart pounding underneath the blood-red silk of your evening gown, you find your way to your seats. He's even managed to get you a place in the balcony! He keeps looking around nervously, though- you try to ignore it and let the music wash over you, sending goosebumps up and down your arms.

You're midway through the first act when Rich gasps and tenses beside you. You look around, distracted from the singing, to see what's got him so on edge. You follow his gaze and you see them- Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, and Sebastian Moran, his loyal bodyguard and sniper, are in the private box not thirty feet away. Jim's eyes are fixed on the pair of you, and he beckons- _Come up_.

During the intermission, you both make your way to the box.

"Well, well, well," Jim drawls when he sees you both, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Seb and I came here to meet a client, and how unexpected it is to see the two of _you_ here, now that our business is done. Such a _pleasant_ surprise." Even though Jim was addressing Rich, his eyes are glued on you, staring at you hungrily, as is Seb. "And how nice it is that you've brought your lovely friend." He reaches up and grasps your hand, kissing the back of it in a courtly fashion. Jim being the man he is, however, makes sure that you feel the slight scrape of teeth over your skin as well.

This makes you shiver with pleasure, despite your nerves being on edge. The lights begin to flicker, signifying the closure of the intermission and the beginning of the second act. Jim suddenly grins, a wicked idea lighting his eyes. "Seb," he says, keeping his eyes locked on you still, "do you think we should see if Rich's lovely friend can sing like that cow onstage? I bet she can easily hit the high C in the aria."

Your heart pounds and flutters with anticipation. Seb grins. "Jim, that's an excellent idea. I think we should test your theory." Suddenly, you find yourself pressed between the two men, Jim's mouth on your neck and Seb's hands resting in the curve between your waist and hips. You gasp, and Rich tries to get in between them, protesting.

"Sit, Rich," Jim snaps. "You'll get your turn when we've finished ours." Your lover, no choice given, subsides in his chair.

You can't help but feel excited, even as you feel guilty. You hear the quiet rasp of your zipper as it slides down, exposing your skin to the warm air of the opera house. Seb follows the path of the zipper with his mouth, the touch of his lips tracing fire on your skin. Soon, you are peeled out of your gown and are left standing in your bra and knickers, the white lace gleaming in the soft light of the theater. Jim smirks.

"Nice. Very nice indeed," he muses with a catlike grin; he reaches out and with a quick flick of his fingers, unfastens your bra. You gasp and instinctively cover yourself, but your hands are stopped by Seb's, large and calloused, covering your breasts. You sigh and arch into his touch, which makes him growl in a pleased fashion and bend his mouth to your neck, sucking and biting your skin. Jim, impatient as always, begins to work on his own clothes. He strips out of his jacket and undoes his trousers, pulling out his already stiffening cock. Your eyes flit to it, and you feel the press of Seb's arousal against your bum. Unable to help yourself, you wriggle against them both. Seb groans and ruts against you.

"Little kitten, do you have any idea of what we're going to do to you?" Jim murmurs into your ear. You nod and swallow hard, heart pounding in anticipation. The slight Irishman grins as he yanks your knickers down and off, fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, brushing your clit and making you moan. The sniper behind you hisses.

"God, Jim, I need her _now_."

"Patience, patience," Jim admonishes. he slides one, then two fingers inside of you, curling and twisting. You quake and shudder, biting your lip to stifle your cries. Despite Rich's previous protestations, you can't help but notice the tell-tale bulge inside his trousers as he watches Jim and Seb take you apart. The consulting criminal is aware that your attentions have wavered, and that doesn't please him in the slightest; he tweaks your clit and makes you moan.

"Focus on the one who's pleasuring you, pet," he hisses in your ear. You nod, unable to do anything but agree. He withdraws his fingers and pops one into his mouth. "Oooh, aren't you just _delicious_ ," he says, smirking. "Here, Sebby, taste." He extends his still-wet digits and Seb takes them into his mouth and suckles on them, nearly moaning (although you don't know whether it's at the taste of your juices or the fact that Jim has his fingers in his mouth, but you honestly don't care). Seb agrees with Jim, who takes a condom out of his pocket and passes one to his sniper. He unwraps his and slides it over his engorged length before rubbing it against your folds.

"So sweet and wet... I've wanted to do this to you since I saw your picture on Rich's phone," Jim murmurs into your ear. With one swift movement, he lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his hips, then drives himself into you with one thrust. You nearly shriek at the feeling of being so suddenly stretched, and it turns into a moan of pleasure as you adjust to his length and girth. He grunts as he feels you around him and begins to move, Seb steadying you from behind so the force of Jim's thrusts don't make you fall over backwards.

"Fuck, you're so _tight_ ," Jim hisses as he moves. He's rough and unforgiving and you adore it, the leg that you have wrapped around him pulling him closer and allowing him deeper. He focuses on his own pleasure, though, and only lazily does he begin to circle your clit with his fingers. He's deft in his ministrations and h soon has you panting his name as you climax around him, clenching and fluttering.

This is, apparently, enough to make him finish. With a harsh thrust and a groan, he comes, twitching inside of you. He slowly withdraws, removing and disposing of the soiled condom before rearranging his impeccable clothing. "Your turn, Seb," he drawls. The sniper grins ferally as he unzips his trousers and puts on the condom over his impressive length. Instead of moving around in front of you, he bends you over at the waist and makes you grasp the back of one of the chairs. "I'm going to fuck you from behind like an animal," he growls in your ear. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you mercilessly.

Finally, when you're nearly begging for him, he drives himself inside of you. You can't hold back the cry that escapes your lips and you feel a wave of delicious humiliation that sweeps over you as some of the patrons turn to see where the sound came from. Seb is, if at all possible, rougher than Jim. He's punishing in his thrusts and you clench around him tightly, making him groan at the sensation of how much you're gripping him. This, combined with the harshness of his movements, sends you over into your second orgasm. This pulls Seb over with you and he fills the condom with a guttural moan. The sniper removes the soiled condom and, like Jim, rearranges his clothing, panting lightly.

You feel nearly sated but rather buffeted by Jim and Seb's lovemaking. Rich stands up and takes you into his arms. You can feel his clothing against your bare skin, and the bulge of his cock pressing into your belly through the fabric of his trousers.

"Watching us fuck your girl made you hot, didn't it Rich?" Jim asks, snickering. Rich blushes and that's all the answer the Irishman needs. "Well, go on!" Jim waves his hand as if he's granting Rich permission. Your lover already has his zip down and his cock out. He sits and pulls you into his lap, letting you sink down onto him. You both groan and begin to move in tandem; he catches the nipple of your left breast in his mouth and suckles hard. You gasp and ride him faster as one of his hands moves from gripping your hips to circle your clit.

He removes his mouth from your breast to whisper into your ear. "They may fuck you, but you belong to _me_ ," he says. This possessive side to Rich is new and heady, and it doesn't take you long to finish. You cry out your pleasure just as the singer onstage reaches the high soprano C of the aria. You match the note and vaguely hear the faint - _crack_ \- as a glass lampshade suddenly grows a series of spiderweb cracks. You feel Rich come inside of you, filling you with his seed with a groan.

There is a long moment as you both catch your breath, clean up and redress. Jim and Seb are smirking.

"Such a pretty little songbird," leers Seb.

"Oh yes," agrees Jim. "We must have an encore after that performance. Back to the flat, all of you... let's find out what other songs she knows." Your heart flutters with anticipation- you'd be sure to give them all a performance that none of you would ever forget.


	150. Earth Shattering- Greg, John, and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: Would love to see the three boys take their time with reader in bed giving her a high number of orgasms!  
> (Continuation of Chapter 110: Down the Alleyway)

You wake the next morning quite sore but very relaxed, more so than you've been for a long time. Greg is watching you when your eyes open, and he kisses your fluttering eyelids. "Morning, little minx," he murmurs in your ear. You squirm a little, his voice already triggering a Pavlovian response from you... but before he can continue, someone is banging on the door.

"Fuck and bugger," the DI grumbles, hauling himself up (oh dear lord he's naked and just look at his _arse_!), throwing his dressing gown on as he heads for the door. You can hear a faint argument as the door opens, and suddenly both John and Sherlock are fairly racing into the bedroom. Both men are clearly here to see you, and the earlier events from the night before come trickling back through the drunken haze in your memory.

"John, we talked about this in the cab-"

"No, you talked _at_ me, I never agreed to-"

"But you got to kiss her first-"

"And then you-"

"SHUT IT!" Greg roars from the doorway. "In case you haven't noticed this, and don't you dare say anything Sherlock, she's in _my_ bed in _my_ flat. So, both of you, shove off!"

"What happened to sharing?" you ask quietly, letting the covers fall from where they have been covering your chest. All three men are now staring at your breasts, sufficiently distracted. You tilt your head to the side and move slowly forward; the sheets continue falling away from your naked body, the air in the room making you shiver after the warmth of the blankets. "I rather enjoyed last night," you continue, looking up at John and then Sherlock, your eyes coming to rest on Greg. "I don't remember screaming that much in ages."

All three of them are sporting erections in their trousers and aren't even bothering to hide them. You giggle softly and stand up, loving the attention. You move to John, nosing his jawline and tugging his ear with your teeth. "Greg tells me you're a Captain?"

He is nodding as you move to Sherlock. You bring one of his hands to your breast, letting him feel it. "Greg tells me you love to explore and deduce... wonder what your hands could say about me?"

"They-"  
"I didn't say you could speak." Smirking at the surprise on his face you go to Greg, leaning in and kissing him. "And I have to say, I _adore_ your tongue and your voice, _Detective Inspector_."

It's John who moves first again. He pulls you away from Greg and spins you around, kissing you fervently before pushing you back to the bed. Sherlock is already there, stripping, the buttons on his shirt almost crying in relief as they don't go flying to the corners of the room. Greg has the advantage of only needing to drop his dressing gown, but he helps pull you further up on the bed, pinning your wrists in a surprising grip. "I think I want to try your tongue this morning, babe," he purrs, leering down at you with a wicked Cheshire grin.

John and Sherlock are bickering again, this time from between your legs.

"But I want to-"

"She doesn't want to be an experiment-"

"And yet how will I learn without practice-"

"BOYS!" You yell, getting their attention. "Keep fighting and you can both watch. And honestly, take turns for God's sake. John first so Sherlock can observe, all right?"

They grumble their assent (Sherlock does anyway) as John settles between your legs, his tongue already dragging up your folds and brushing your clit. You squirm in Lestrade's grasp, fighting the urge to close your legs. Sherlock's fingers, unable to hold still, start exploring your breasts, quickly finding sensitive places and discovering, to Greg's delight at least, how much you squirm when your nipples are played with.

John is adding his fingers now, curling two of them inside you while his tongue works magic on your clit, bringing you to the edge and holding you there until you meet his smoldering gaze. Only then do his fingers twist and bring you over, your voice breaking in a sob of pleasure. He pulls back and wipes his mouth. "All right then, genius, your turn."

Sherlock swaps places with him and spends thirty seconds just observing what you look like before leaning in. His fingers are _so_ much longer than John's, reaching your g-spot with almost no effort. Your gasp has Greg shifting, his cock clearly in need of attention, and John is mouthing along your bare torso.

The detective adds his tongue, and you're not sure how he's already so good at this, but his name is on your lips when you cum a second time. "Interesting," you hear him mutter as he moves, stripping so that he, John, and Greg are all naked. "Now, how exactly are we sharing?"

"I already have her mouth," Greg growls.

"So, we can either share her gorgeous pussy or one of us can have her arse," John says. Your eyes roll back in your head at the thought. Sherlock seems to think on this for a moment before grinning. It's not a grin that makes you go weak, more of one that makes you feel like a lab rat.

"We can share her, but we get to alternate thrusts. You get one, I get one."

"What does that accomplish?"

"To see how she reacts to two different organs, different, thicknesses, different lengths, and then we can both fuck her until she cums."

**_Oh. Dear. Sweet. Jesus._ **

" _Done_."

John and Greg roll you over and onto your knees, the doctor and former Captain sliding beneath you, ripping open a condom packet and putting on the protection. You hear Sherlock also rip open a packet as you come face to face with Greg's impressive cock. "Go on then, luv. Show me what you can do."

You lean forward and swirl your tongue around the head of him, one hand supporting yourself over John and the other stroking the part of the officer not in your mouth. You moan around him as John pushes inside you, filling you deliciously before pulling all the way out and Sherlock fills you. It's a very strange sensation, this alternation. Neither one is quite enough to really get you going, only hint at what could be. Greg is soon thrusting into your mouth, too wound up to really focus, and he cums with a groan of your name as Sherlock says, "All right, John, have your turn."

You can barely swallow around Greg before John slams up into you, making you cry out. Greg catches you as your arms give way, lowering you onto the doctor who is fully intent to pound you into oblivion. He's very strong and solid, not military at all in his delivery as he thrusts and rolls his hips, soon flipping you over so that he is above you, his dog tags clinking over your face.

"So gorgeous... god, your lips all swollen and wet, you have any idea how tight you are right now?" He bites at your neck, leaving a bruise as he sucks a mark into your skin. "I think you want me to order you to finish, is that it? Do you want to cum for me?"

"Oh God... yes, yes sir, sir please..."

"Do it."

You arch and scream, clenching even tighter around him as you climax. He fills the condom soon after, pulling out and collapsing near Greg. "Your turn... Sherlock..."

The detective pulls you up and pushes you against the wall; he seems to favor this position, but he turns you around this time and takes you from behind, filling your pussy in one motion and pulling your hair gently with one hand.

"I learn a great deal by watching, and I think this is a fantasy of yours. To be taken by a total stranger, unable to turn around, at the mercy of him, hmmm? You like not being in control, giving it over for a little while."

His voice is like a jungle cat purring, and you whimper and squirm, desperately trying to fuck yourself on him despite how sore you are. "Please Sherlock... just let me..."

"Let you what?"

"Let me cum, _please_."

You can feel him grinning as he speeds up, playing with your very oversensitive clit until you feel your body almost break in his arms and your vision goes black.

oOoOo

You come to a little while later, all three of them holding you in bed.

"Here she is, drink some water, babe."

You sip from the glass offered, giggling weakly. "Guess that was earth-shattering, huh?"

Only Sherlock looks confused as you, John, and Greg dissolve into laughter.


	151. Undercover- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by what am I doing here: I'd like to see perhaps a story in which Jim discovers mid-snog by way of a gun's sudden appearance that his current acquisition heads a crime community like his own in the States and she's come after some very valuable information from him. She's quickly disarmed and tries to use the feminine charms that got her to Moriarty's flat in the first place but by this time Jim is pulling out his own tricks and so a veritable information exchange occurs under hot circumstances and she learns that while she may think she's an independent operator, she's actually an unwitting division of Jim's own crime web.

You have to hide a smug grin as Jim Moriarty opens the door to his flat. You've been working undercover, under the radar as a tourist from the U.S., for the past two months now, getting into his good graces; you literally ran into him at a pub that he was known to frequent. He gently guides you in, and you look around the flat as if you admire the decorating. In reality, you're looking for possible wire taps and different escape routes should things go sour.

He leads you to the couch and you sit down, tucking your skirt under your legs primly, if only to hide the bulge of the gun in the holster on your thigh.

"You know, I think I might keep you," he murmurs, looking at you closely with his dark, mad eyes half-lidded. You blush and he smirks, then leans forward. You begin to kiss, and you have to admit, even though your mind is on the work, he's VERY good at this. His fingers are threading through your hair (you've learned that he likes it down and free around your shoulders), and you lean into his touch. Just as things get more heated, you make your move.

The gun comes out of the holster and is pressed under his chin which makes him freeze solid. You can't help the pleased smirk that comes to your face as you watch him swallow. "Now that I have your undivided attention, Mr. Moriarty, I have a few questions regarding the Royer account," you say smoothly.

Jim narrows his eyes, and suddenly you are disarmed and your hand stings from where he wrenched the gun out of it. Your turn to freeze now, and you stay very still as the muzzle of your own weapon kisses your forehead, the metal still a little warm from where it was against Jim's skin.

"Ohhh, you shouldn't have tried that. Though I have to admit, I _am_ impressed at how close you managed to get and how well you hid yourself. But now the game is up, little dove, and your hand is not a winning one," he says, shaking his head in what you consider an almost remorseful manner.

"Wait," you say quickly, and he does, thumb hovering over the hammer of the gun, ready to cock it back and pull the trigger. "Didn't you say you wanted to keep me? I'm sure we could come to some… arrangement," you elaborate, shifting your legs so that the barest hints of your knickers could be seen under your skirt.

Jim looks at you, cold and calculating. Then he disarms the gun and sets it aside, smile playing around the corners of his lips. "I always did like a challenge, and you seem like a good fuck; you'd have to be, to get so close. I'm guessing you're in my line of work: criminal. That being said... blouse off."

You nod. This is going to become a twisted game of strip twenty questions, and you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement and want go through you as you start to undo the buttons down the front of your shirt, aware that his eyes are glued to your movements. "So- are you going to answer my questions about the Royer account?" you ask as you shrug your blouse off your shoulders. He gives a short chuckle.

"Honey, you didn't even ask me one; try again," he said, voice a little condescending. Your eyes narrow. He wanted to play big? Fine, you'd play big.

"Who commissioned it? My… _organization_ is quite interested in the benefactor. We've heard tell of something big stirring in the background of London, and we want to decide if we want in or if we want to cut our losses and find something more worth our time," you say. Then you smile slightly. "Trousers." He really does grin this time and toes off his shoes, hands going to the button and zip of his pants. They hit the floor and as he steps out of them, a flush of arousal goes through you. Clearly this little game that the both of you are playing is riling him up. The bulge of his cock is visible, straining against the dark gray cotton of his briefs.

"The client that commissioned the Royer account is… shall we say, someone of import in this country. Not gentry, but high up. That's all I can tell, because secrecy was part of the contract's outlines. After all, if this went to hell, names shouldn't be getting out. Too many questions asked means too close for comfort to my little operation, you understand," he said, looking far too important in his pants, socks, dress shirt and tie. "Skirt, love. And tell me- just how wet are you?" This last part comes with a leer that makes your skin go red.

That question catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, dipping your fingers into your knickers to drag along your folds and dip inside your entrance. You bring them out glistening- the banter and the snogging and the adrenaline have been doing their job, and you're damn near soaking through your panties. "Does this answer your question?" you ask, voice the slightest bit breathless. His eyes go dark and he catches your wrist in his hand, then pops your fingers in his mouth, tongue curling around them to taste your essence. The sight of him obviously savoring your juices makes your heart pound like a sugar-high drummer, and the faintest whimper escapes your throat. This is going to end well- you pray.

You have to think hard about the other questions you were supposed to ask him, but he's damn near erased what coherent thoughts you had with his eyes, his voice and his mouth. "Did the clients who commissioned the Royer account have any other contracts open?" you manage to ask. "Shirt and tie." He chuckles and undoes his tie slowly, making a show of it. Your eyes are fixed as he exposes the pale skin of his throat, chest and stomach, undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he scoffs. "Again, confidential, sweetheart. I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. My cock would never forgive me for that," he said, indicating to the now obvious and very prominent bulge in his pants. "Bra and knickers. Show Daddy what you've got."

You stand and shed the last articles of clothing you have and he takes his time surveying your body. "Jesus fuck, you're a sight for sore eyes," he breathes. He hastily pulls down his briefs and is on you before you can blink. Then you're snogging each other, feeling his cock pressed hard and hot against your belly as he ruts against you. "Couch. Lie down- I _need_ to be in you," he growls, and you're there on your back, legs spread, in record time.

He enters you with an unforgiving thrust, and you cry out. He's perfect and the pace he sets is unforgiving. You reciprocate as best you can, rolling your hips and clenching your inner muscles around him, digging your nails into the skin of his back, leaving thin lines of blood. Your fucking is animalistic: teeth and tongue, nails and lips, growling and snarling and cursing. His cock is driving you mad and you can see the almost pained look on his face as he slows; the tightness of you around him is driving him to the end, you know this. "Final- question. Answer it and I'll let you cum," he pants. "Which- organization are- you working for?"

You can barely form a coherent sentence, much less a complete thought. "The Old Firm!" you manage to gasp. "Operating out of New York." He thrusts hard into you and moves his hand down to pinch your clit, which sends you over the edge with a wail of his name. He curses and groans yours as he empties himself inside of you. You both lay there, panting in the afterglow and then he chuckles.

"What? What's so funny?" you ask. He laughs harder.

"Sweetheart, I _run_ that group. All your stalking and posturing was a good show and utterly useless. Although I have to say- I'll consider this your application to the main branch. And you passed with flying colors. Now you're mine and no one else's," he says, nuzzling into your neck and sucking a love bite into the junction of your shoulder and throat.

You shiver and hold him closer. You can most certainly deal with this promotion.


	152. More Experiments- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: Sherlock testing various sex toys on you.
> 
> Lady Corvidae: Right. Sherlock- toys. Blindfold (dirty talk dirty talk dirty taaaaaalk! Why NO I don't have a voice kink what gave you that idea shut up you I can see/hear you grinning from here), clit vibrator w/ edging session (get her up to the point of release and then wind her back down again). No cuffs or restraints, because if she moves then he'll stop.

"I won't bind you, but if you move then I won't touch you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Sherlock," you murmur, resisting the urge to turn your head to the sound of his voice. His scarf is very soft and warm over the top of your face where it serves as a blindfold. The rest of your body is bare; you can feel the duvet of his bed beneath you.

"I must say that you look quite alluring like this. Your skin is much paler against the covers than it appears in daylight." He is sitting on the bed now, a box of something by his side. You hear something buzz and the next thing you know, there are rabbit ears on your clit, making you squirm and arch. As soon as you move though, he stops, pulling the toy away. You whine in frustration.

"My dear pet, I thought I told you not to move or I wouldn't play today."

Swallowing, you spread your legs for him again and barely manage to hold still as he fairly tortures your clit with the ears, testing out different settings and speeds.

"Your expressions are so curious, I almost wish I could see your eyes, but that's another experiment. You would do anything to be allowed to move right now, wouldn't you? Oh the things you would beg me to do to you, to not stop? You seem to be quite upset whenever I take the ears away." They speed up against your clit and you're fighting a muscle spasm that would have him stop. _So close_.

He stops anyway, just before you can cum. Your whine of frustration is audible as your body relaxes.

"Goodness, so wound up. I wonder how you would look filled with a toy? Perhaps a toy that could play with you like this while I fuck you with it, hmmm?"

When in _hell_ did he learn to talk like this?

"John's been teaching me."

You ignore everything that is wrong in that scenario, the least of which is how he can read your mind. "Please Sherlock... please give me more."

You know he's smiling when the vibrations are back, teasing you to the edge and away again three more times until you are drenched in cold sweat from the effort of keeping still.

"Such a good girl for me... I think I can reward you now."

The vibrations are at the highest setting, bringing you over not once, but twice as he refuses to take them away after you finish your first orgasm. You collapse against the covers, thanking him breathily as he removes the blindfold and kisses your lips.

"Rest and drink water. I'll be back in an hour for the next round."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something to remind you all that we are still alive and you are all very much on our minds. We shall continue working!


	153. Such a Wicked Man-Riddell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by flubber2kool: Riddell has to come back to London (could be set anywhere else if desired) for some reason and takes reader with him. They end up at a dinner and he is really bored. Takes the reader to an inappropriate place to have sex in that it is somewhere they could be found!

Two years you have been married to the big game hunter, and they have been two of the most wonderful years of your life. John Riddell is everything you could possibly have hoped for in a husband and a lover and more. The two of you have even begun to contemplate having children; God knows it would make your mother happy to see you with child, but you don't want to be defined as a parent just yet. You're simply having too much fun with John.

Early in the spring of your third year of marriage, John has to go to London to sell a few of his pelts and buy some much needed supplies, and you get to go with him. The city is every bit as large and filthy as you remember, but it doesn't seem to weigh too heavily on you. You're at your husband's side, and he's promised you some really fantastic sex for putting up with the trip. He knows how much you love the freedom of Africa and that London represents everything you thought you'd managed to escape for good.

You drop in on your parents, just to be polite, and they of course invite you both to tea. Your father and John talk business and hunting while your mother makes snide comments disguised as compliments the entire time... until she goes after John.

"You're looking rather, ah, dark."

"Yes mother. I live in Africa in the sun. It is quite difficult to avoid the sun with very few clouds." You're rather fond of your tan, your color. It makes you think of all your adventures, the last time you made love beneath the African sky...

"It is the husband's job to make sure his wife remains presentable, not to mention that it is your place to bear him children."

You sip your tea, swallowing the tirade of comments you want desperately to shoot back at her. John takes your hand subtly, stroking the back of it with his thumb to calm you, so you focus on his touch, on how his hands will feel later, his mouth, his absolutely gorgeous co-

"I simply cannot understand why you refuse to wear your corsets. It's affecting your figure."

John squeezes your hand sharply to keep you from saying anything; he knows how sensitive you are about how you look, not to mention how long it has taken for you to become comfortable with your appearance (several months and quite a bit of extremely passionate sex). He cuts in, smoothing things over with your mother. "I'm terribly sorry if we have offended you in any way. We only just arrived on the morning tide and I had a great deal of business to attend to today and will have to see to tomorrow as well. We simply have not had enough time to buy clothes for town; there is not much call for them back home. I hope you will forgive our appalling lack of protocol." He gives her one of your favorite smiles, the one that makes your stomach do a somersault because he looks so roguish and adventurish, but it's a smile you've come to treasure as meant only for you Your mother blushes ever so slightly (dear God, she actually blushes?!), smiling back at your husband.

"You both simply must stay for dinner."

You look at John, giving him your ' _You remember that sex were going to have, ever again_?' (1) look. Dinner with your parents.

 _Fuck_.

oOoOo

"It won't be that bad, luv-"

"Are you _serious?!_ With _my_ parents? You saw what tea was like, I can't _do_ anymore of that, her judgments on my life and my choice and on you-"

John kisses you, catching your lips with his and holding you in his arms. "It _will_ be fine. I promise."

"How? How will it be fine?"

He grins wickedly. "You'll see."

oOoOo

Dinner is extremely boring. You claimed exhaustion after tea so you wouldn't have to go shopping for an awful corset, even though it would be worth seeing John cut it off you again. Soup is followed by salad, followed by rather gorgeous steaks, but it's too quiet, the conversation too dry and dull, and you can tell that John is every bit as bored as you are. City life holds no appeal to you anymore, and the gossip is almost enough to make you tear your hair out.

"Are you all right, luv?"

Rather than speak, you shake your head, looking to Riddell. He appears concerned, but his eyes are sparkling with that roguish glint you love. What could he possibly have in mind?

"I think I need to see you upstairs and to bed, too much excitement for one day." Before anyone can argue, he has whisked you out the door and up the stairs.

"What are we doing-"

"Shhhhh, luv. We're going to play a game my dear. The one rule is that you must stay silent." He grins and tugs you into your parents' room.

"John, _no_ -"

He shuts you up with a deep, teasing, passionate kiss, pulling your dress up and dragging his fingers along the crotch of your bloomers. You swallow a squeak, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. "Well then, Mr. Riddell, whatever are you going to do with me?" you whisper in his ear.

"I think I'm going to have you against this wall; I fear the bed will creak too much, defeating the purpose of this little game of ours." He bites your neck, sucking a bruise to the skin where you can still hide it by a collar if you need to. " _Mine_."

"Yes, _yes_ , I'm yours."

He drops his jodhpurs, pulling himself out, already hard and eager for you. You reach down and stroke him, guiding him to your entrance. He presses into your body easily, filling you in a way you never grow weary of. He kisses you to silence you again, rolling his hips and thrusting into your body.

You cling to him, helping keep your dress up and out of the way, sucking on his tongue when it dips in your mouth, swallowing your own moans. He seems to have magnificent control over his voice, so you clench around him, drawing a surprised gasp. He sees the proud smirk in your eyes and his own narrow. He shifts his angle and slams into your g-spot, and you aren't completely able to prevent a high pitched squeal from escaping your throat.

The pair of you freeze at that, hearing footsteps in the hall approaching the door. Riddell pins you in place and covers your mouth with his hand. For a few tense moments, you are convinced you'll be discovered, but then the footsteps go the other way. You exhale, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Neither of us are finished... would you like to?"

"Dear god _yes_."

He snaps his hips, pounding quickly, roughly into you, and you let go, climaxing hard in a soundless scream as he follows you over the edge. After a few moments of kissing and holding each other, you put yourselves back together and sneak from the room, back to the table.

"Is everything all right?" Your mother looks concerned and disapproving at the same time, big surprise there.

"Yes, it's fine, I just had a terrible headache. John is ever so good with remedies."

"Oh, really? Perhaps I should try it sometime."

You glance at your husband who smiles easily at your mother. "I'll leave instructions with your husband. After all, isn't it his job to care for you?" With that, he pulls you from the table and takes you from the house to a hotel.

Neither of you sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- Shamelessly borrowed from Firefly


	154. "Cadet"- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From thebookworm214: I have no memory of requesting this, we think I requested this, but it's been so long. Military!John and teasing/denial.

He has you bound, spread-eagled, to the bed. He's as naked as you are, and you can see his cock standing at attention as your eyes follow his movements. He's pacing around the bed, eyes never leaving you, watching your curls glisten and shine from your wetness between your legs. "Right," he says, his voice crisp and concise. "If you're going to address me, you shall do so as _Captain_ Watson. I outrank you, and it shall remain as such. Am I clear?" His voice is authoritative and it makes you weak.

"Yes, Captain," you breathe. He allows a small smile to form on his lips.

"Good job, cadet. I think with some further… _training_ , we can whip you into a good troop yet," he says.

He climbs onto the bed and rubs the tip of his cock against your folds, then pulls away when you whimper. Fortunately, it's to slide on a condom and he returns to what he was doing; which was, apparently, to torture you. You arch into him, gasping. "Please, Captain, _please_ ," you beg as he nudges against your clit, focusing on the little, oversensitive bundle of nerves. Instead of obliging you, however, he withdraws and sits back on his heels, watching you nearly sob.

"Cadet, if I gave you what you wanted all at once, you'd never learn discipline," he said, though it's just as difficult for him, too. You can see the sweat beading on his brow, and he repeats this course of action twice more. By now, you're begging, crying, desperate for release. "Captain… Captain… _John_ ," you babble. "Fuck me, claim me, take me _now_!" He growls and does so, sinking inside of you to the hilt.

"Christ on his throne; I'll never get over how hot and tight you are," he growls in your ear as he works in and out of you. "Your cunt grips my cock like a vise made out of fire and velvet. You feel like salvation and damnation both, and I can never get enough of you. Even when I sleep, I dream of you and wake up with the worst hard-on. See what you do to me?" He slides out of you, making you look at his length in the condom, twitching as he holds back orgasm.

"John, John, I need you, I _need_ you!" you keen. "I need your cock inside me, I need you to fuck me until I can't close my legs without feeling you between them. I want you to own me." That does it. He plunges back into you and works furiously inside you. You meet his thrusts as best you can, but with your wrists and ankles bound it's difficult.

Finally you cum with a blaze of heat and light and a scream of his name, shattering around him. He groans and thrusts twice more inside you, filling the condom. He savors the feeling of you still contracting around his softening cock before he pulls out and gently unties you. He massages the life back into your arms and legs, kissing the rope burn left behind around your wrists.

"Did I pass muster, Captain?" you ask sleepily. He chuckles, low in his throat, a warm and welcome sound.

"Cadet, you passed with flying colors," he replied, stroking back you sweat-soaked hair and cuddling next to you.


	155. The Pets Will Play- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From.... neither of us can remember again. It might be hers or mine, but it's a sequel to Sub!Sherlock.

It's been nearly months since you've had proper 'playtime' with Mycroft. He's been too embroiled with his work as the British government to devote time to your sessions; you're about ready to burst out of your skin, you're so frustrated. So when you hear a knock on the door, you nearly run to get it. He has a habit of dropping by for a quick session every now and again, without warning, to keep you on your toes.

Imagine your surprise when you open the door to find Sherlock, his younger brother and his PA's sub, standing there, with a black scowl on his face. Anthea is busy as well, assisting Mycroft with his needs. She must not be able to keep Sherlock in sessions as well.

"Come in," you say faintly, swallowing hard. You have to admit that you've given more than a passing thought to this man- the little play session that had the both of you in it was satisfying, but it was nowhere near enough. You can't count the number of times that you've woken up, soaking your sheets, after dreaming about his cock inside you, wondering what it would feel like, how different it would be compared to his brother's.

"I take it he's been neglecting you, too," he says as he steps over the threshold of your flat, waiting for you to close and lock the door behind him. "My mistress has been busy as well, and I _need_ release. It's… just…" he ends in a frustrated sound, mussing his hair with both hands in a fit of inability to articulate his need.

"Yes… so when the master's away, the pets will play," you say, a smile on your lips. He looks you up and down and smirks.

"I didn't have such a cliché saying in mind, but yes, that's the general idea. I'm going to fuck you into your mattress until you can barely move," he rumbles, his voice low and dark with promise.

You decide to not waste any more time than you already have and grab him, kissing him soundly on the mouth. He freezes for a moment, surprised, then kisses you fiercely in return. Backing you up, he pushes you towards the bedroom. You don't bother to ask how he knows- it's a Holmes thing, you surmise. Once you reach it, he starts nearly tearing you out of your clothes, and you fumble with his, the tight shirt's buttons nearly popping off in your haste to get him bare. You manage to get each other naked and then survey each other.

He hasn't changed much since the last time you saw him like this: pale and thin, wiry with muscle, gorgeous cock standing at full attention and throbbing. Your inner thighs are slick with your arousal and you make a soft whimpering noise in your throat. His head snaps up and his eyes are dilated, the noise that he makes is nearly feral. In an instant, you're on your back on the bed, and his erection is sliding against the slit of your womanhood, soaking in your juices.

"I'm going to fuck you until you scream," he promises in your ear. You gasp and arch upwards, feeling the tip of him dip inside you. You link your ankles around his hips and pull him tight to you. He groans as he feels the hint of your heat and bucks involuntarily.

"Believe me, we'll _both_ be screaming," you purr back. He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, before he slides into you.

He moves agonizingly slow at first, his face drawn up in what looks like pain, but you know it's not. Your inner walls grip him, holding him tightly. His cock is fantastic and it rubs all the right places inside you. You both hold still for a moment, him letting you feel him stretch you, you clutching him to you to make him feel how deep he is in you.

"For fuck's sake, _move_ ," you finally grind out, and he nods, as desperate as you are. He begins to work his hips, rolling them in teasing little thrusts that grow longer and deeper the more desperate he becomes. The moans and gasps are fucked right out of you, his name on your lips as you move with and around him. Your headboard is hitting the wall, your mattress springs creaking and singing. He makes a move so deep that it sets off white fire behind your eyelids and you cry out in surprise. That's never happened with Mycroft- he's never reached your g-spot before.

Sherlock takes note of this and grins in delight as he does it again and again and again, driving you to the point of madness. Finally, you can't bear it any more. "Oh God, I'm gonna… Sherlock, I'm gonna…!" you pant.

" _Yes_ ," he growls. "Not for Mycroft, for _me_. You cum for _me_. You. Are. Mine." And with that, you're lost, wailing his name as you spasm around him. You can feel his cock swell and throb inside you, before he groans and bucks into you hard; once, twice, three times, and you can feel his hot seed soaking your inner walls. When you both finish, he lays atop of you for a while, softening inside you, twitching every once in a while when the muscles in your cunt clench around him reflexively.

"You know what?" you murmur as he finally slides out of you, both of you breathing hard. He looks at you, barely quizzical. "I think that Mycroft has some serious competition now." The look of feral joy on his face is one that sends both a thrill and a chill through you before he responds with a single word.

_"Good."_


	156. Memories and Longing- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Meganbobness: John catches you looking at pictures of him from Army days and tells you about how much he missed sex while deployed, lots of dirty talk.

You're wandering around 221B, specifically John's room; the doctor is out getting groceries and Sherlock is curled up on the couch either asleep or sulking; only John and Mycroft seem to be able to tell the difference anymore. The place is bare but homey, a few books on the shelves, mostly medical tomes, and a Neil Gaiman novel on the dresser. His computer is on the desk, and his clothes are neatly dropped in a hamper in the corner. It must be the neatest and most organized place in the entire flat. A few of the pictures on the nightstand catch your eye.

_John in uniform_

_John in the desert_

_John with his army buddies_

_John with recovering patients_

"A few of them insisted I have their pictures because I saved their lives."

You jump, heart in your throat as you spin around. "John, John I-"

He waves it off, smiling easily. "I figured you'd come up with an excuse to find your way in here sooner or later," he teases, picking up the one of him in his dress uniform. "This was taken two days before I shipped out... god it was lonely out in Afghanistan."

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde. "Lonely? Weren't you with your buddies?"

John smirks at you, setting the picture down. "I meant lonely as in only your right hand for company."

You blush furiously, biting your lip and backing up slowly. "Oh... so you missed-"

"Sex, yes. _God_ I missed it. I missed the way a woman would blush at my touch or my kiss."

Your back hits the wall, and there's nowhere to go, and suddenly he's kissing you. It's gently but teasing, almost like he's smirking at you. When he pulls back, his fingertips brush your cheeks. "Just like that."

That only makes you blush more, biting and worrying your lip with your teeth. "What-what else did you miss... Captain?" Sherlock had mentioned it in passing once when he was talking almost too fast to be followed, but the information had stuck firm in your mind. You see John's eyes blow at the title and he growls, pushing you more firmly against the wall, his mouth first at your neck and then at your ear; his breath is warm and makes your skin tingle. It's all you can do to not squirm in his embrace.

"I missed the feeling of pounding away at a woman, of her lips around me or my mouth and fingers pulling her completely apart. I missed spending all night awake with a woman just taking pleasure in each other bodies." He smirks, biting and tugging your ear gently. "I missed hearing someone gasp and cry _my_ name, knowing I was bringing her pleasure."

You swallow hard, daring to slip your hand down and brush the front of his trousers. God, he's hard already. "Then... if you missed it so much..."

"If I missed it so much, why did I wait when I got back to have anyone?" He chuckles darkly and nods to the cane gathering dust in the corner. "I was injured, luv. I wasn't really up for any kind of recreational activities."

"And now?"

"That depends on what you want."

You groan softly, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and breathing in his scent. "I really don't think you have any idea how desperate I am," you murmur. You can't really remember the last time you had anyone... a year? Two? Was it earlier in university?

"Oh, so you'll be _tight_ ," John growls, snapping you right out of your thoughts. His voice seems to go straight to your sex and you whimper, clinging to him.

"Yeah, I will. Jesus, John, please don't make me wait-"

"Oh no, I'm going to make you _beg_."

You pull back to see his gaze, hungry and devious before he's kissing you again, his fingers tugging your hair while he opens your mouth with his tongue. He's an extremely good kisser and has you melting against the wall in no time. "Go on," he growls in your ear when he breaks to let you breathe. "Tell me what you want."

"Oh _John_... I want you to have me against-against this wall, hard and rough," you whisper, tilting your neck to give him more access to the skin of your throat where he sucks a mark into the flesh. "I want you to use me."

You feel his lips turn up in a smirk as he spins you around and pins you against the wall, gripping your hips and grinding against your arse, making you squirm. "I think I'll take you just like this, _girl_." He unzips his trousers before pulling yours down to your ankles. Effectively restricting your movement, he spreads your legs as wide as he can before rolling on a condom and slicking himself up. You resist the urge to look behind you, hardly able to hold still now for anticipation.

Slowly, torturously slowly, John lines up with your entrance and pushes in, growling as he grips your hips. You know he's watching himself disappear into your body, and the thought makes you shiver and clench around him. Dear _god_ he's deliciously thick and solid as he fills you, rocking slowly inside your body as if to get used to a brand new sensation.

"It's been so _long_ ," he murmurs before snapping his hips and slamming into you. You cry out in pleasure, using the wall for support as he fucks you hard. The smell of sex quickly fills the room along with the sound of skin on skin and his growls. He leans forward and uses your back as his canvas, leaving bites and hickeys all over your skin. His fingers are digging into your hips to the point where you think you may have bruises, and you can even hear his dog tags clinking together as he moves.

"John, John _please_ ," you whisper as you get close, the familiar fire and pressure building in your clit, your lower abdomen. His mouth is by your ear before you can blink and he tugs the lobe with his teeth.

" _Cum for me, now_!"

You scream, breaking and clenching around him as you nearly fall to the floor. Your legs tremble as he follows, holding you up and filling the condom. You both come down from the high just in time for Sherlock to burst into the room.

"Could you _please_ keep it down? Some of us are actually trying to engage the cerebral functions not designated for petty primal instincts."

You both dissolve into laughter as he leaves again and spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other.


	157. Forbidden- Rich and Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long overdue promise to startwiththeridingcrop back from March. I just found my handwritten draft and typed it up and finished it last night. St. Patrick's Day in London...

The Guinness on the bar before you is cold enough that condensation is rolling down the class and you know that it will taste as chill as it looks. As tacky as your cheap jewelry is, the shamrocks clink together when you move your arm and reach for the pint of stout. The first sip makes you gasp, and your teeth ache slightly. The place is packed as if all of London were trying to cram in and get absolutely smashed in celebration of this Irish holiday... but you're here waiting for your boyfriend. He's late (not that you're surprised. It's close to impossible to get anywhere right now, he had a rehearsal, and he did say he was going to try and bring someone you need to meet.) So, you finish your first drink and order another, easily rebuffing the drunken men next to you; they soon fall to the floor.

"I'm not _nearly_ that tacky."

You jump, spinning around on your stool to see Rich there, grinning mischievously at you. The young actor leans in for a kiss, clearly interested in tasting the stout on your tongue; your arms wrap around his neck as you open your mouth to his very skilled tongue, groaning softly.

"Now, now, Richie, keep it decent."

You start, pulling back to see... well, you swear the drink has gone to your head because you're seeing double.

"Meet Jim, my twin brother."

"Your-your twin?"

"Yep! Older by about thirty seconds-"

"And therefore wiser, my Nightingale." He looks at you, brown eyes darker and certainly more dangerous than Rich's playful, open gaze. "Jim Moriarty. Hiiii." He brazenly takes your drink and finishes it.

"Hey!"

"Don't worry about it, kitten. Drinks are on me tonight. My brother and I _are_ Irish after all."

Flushing slightly, you mumble your thanks. Jim smirks at Rich, and your boyfriend pulls you into a hug.

"You're all I've talked about at home for weeks. He's just eager to meet the girl who has me so smitten."

"Is he safe? You know, to be around. He seems a bit... dangerous."

The younger twin smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear. " _Of course_ he isn't safe, but that's what makes it fun." He fingers the gold shamrock pendant he'd given you the night before. "It looks good on you, my lucky girl."

Before you can ask what he means, Jim hands each of you a new ice-cold pint. "To the Luck of the Irish," he says, looking straight at you. You and Rich echo him and drink, and you can't help but wonder what they have planned.

oOoOo

Three rounds later and you're completely drunk, sipping water and giggling as the boys try to out drink each other. Each pint has them closer together, in more physical contact. You don't give it much thought until one moment when you swear they are about to kiss. That gets you thinking about what else they might be willing to do... might have already done.

"Kitten? Kitten, y'all right?"

Rich is there, eyes blown from the drink and quite possibly from something else as he asks after your health.

"Yeah... yeah m'fine-"

"She's imagining us, Nightingale." Jim's voice is soft but sing-song, as if teasing you. "Thinking about me kissing your boy? _My_ Nightingale?"

It's amazing to see how fast Rich's eyes blow and how he seems to sober up. "Our little Nightingale is quite the nympho, kitten. He's especially desperate when he's been drinking. Won't you help me _satisfy_ his cravings?"

You feel torn, your own body aching for any kind of sex, but also a bit skeptical about what Jim is suggesting. _Incest? Really?_ Rich's hand brushes your face. "He was my first, and I love him, Kitten, but it's different from how I love you. It was a way for us to have happiness in a shite, abusive childhood. I-I wanted you to know, to me Jim, to know who we are... before we get more serious."

"You... wait, you love me?"

"A gorgeous speech and _that's_ what she takes away?"

"Shut up, Magpie."

Jim gently nips at Rich's ear. "Sorry Nightingale."

You giggle, biting your own lip a little. "Silly birds, fighting over me."

Jim's eyes darken and he wraps his arms very possessively around Rich. "Why don't we all go back to my place then? Then I'll show you what it's really like to fight over _my_ Nightingale?"

" _My_ Rich."

"Oh, I think you'll be screaming for _me_ by the end of the night, little pet."

"Bring. It. On."

Jim drags you both from the pub and into an unmarked black car, pushing you and Rich both into the backseat. Your boyfriend is soon pulled into Jim's arms... and oh fucking hell, they're kissing. The older twin has Rich pinned to the seat and is straddling him, their mouths molded together. You press your legs together, swallowing a whimper because even though you know how wrong it is... oh holy hell who cares anymore; they are fucking _hot_.

Jim breaks the kiss first, glancing to see how you're reacting; Rich looks thoroughly kissed and a bit dazed. "Do you like what you see, kitten?" The older brother's voice is a soft purr, and in any other situation, it would have you terrified. You can't do anything other than nod in agreement, trying to stay in control. Jim moves over and crawls into your lap, pinning you to the seat. "Just try and relax, kitten. I'm _extremely_ good at what I do." He closes the distance and kisses you soundly, his hands pulling your hair while his mouth dominates yours.

Rich growls from where he sits, held in place by Jim's foot, and the older brother kisses you until you're gasping for air. "I can see why you like her, Richie. She's ever so responsive and a lovely kisser."

Rich drags Jim back and pounces, kissing you briefly before sucking a dark bruise to your neck, making you whimper in pleasure and pain; he's using a little bit of teeth this time. "S-someone's possessive," you manage.

"He was kissing you. I don't know if I want to share yet."

"Richie, you brought me on your date. She's as good as mine now."

"...You have Seb, and I'm letting you _share_ tonight, _not_ keep."

The car pulls up in front of a large apartment building, and the twins pull you from the car and into the lift; it stops at the penthouse. You barely get a chance to see any of the place before you're in a bedroom and the door is shut. Jim pins Rich to the door and kisses him hard and rough, pulling his hair and lightly gripping his throat. "Strip for us, little bird. Show Daddy what you love to do."

You stare as Rich whimpers in acknowledgment and begins to dance and strip, sinuous in his movements. His jumper and shirt are first, then his shoes and socks; his trousers are last, and he's not wearing any pants. None.

"Such a naughty bird. Now come and strip your pretty kitten. I want you to fuck her while I have you tonight."

Your mouth goes dry at his words, and Jim's expression is possessive and predatory. Rich kisses you gently before helping you out of your dress and tacky jewelry, leaving the pendant on as your only piece of anything. He helps you to the bed, straddling your hips and kissing you into the mattress. You feel the bed dip as Jim climbs on, and Rich shivers as his twin strokes down his back.

"Yes, that's it Richie. Get nice and hard for us. Think about how hot and wet her cunt will be, how _long_ and _hard_ I am, how I'll feel filling you up. Wonder how loud you'll scream tonight."

Both you and Rich moan, and you pull his hands to your breasts, almost sobbing in relief when he gives your nipples some much needed attention. Jim gets out the lube and condoms, handing Rich a packet while slicking his own fingers up and slowly working his twin open. Rich freezes at the first penetration but quickly melts into a needy, whimpering puddle, rocking back on Jim's fingers.

"Perfect slut, perfect birdie, look at you, desperate, keening, have you ever had him like this, kitten?"

You shake your head. "Not quite like this."

"Well, now you know how much he enjoys being fucked." Jim adds a second finger, and Rich is already begging for more. "Not until you're inside her, Nightingale."

Your boyfriend fumbles for the packet, nearly tearing it in two before he rolls it on and pushes slowly into your tight, wet heat. Your head falls back against the pillows as you moan his name, getting used to the stretch.

"Oh she loves your cock, doesn't she?" Jim unzips his trousers and slicks up his cock, wiping his fingers before slowly pushing into Rich. "I'm not even undressed tonight, Nightingale. Daddy's fucking you with his clothes _on_."

Rich cries out in pleasure as his twin fills him up and each thrust Jim gives Rich is one he gives you. You watch as Rich manages to start a rhythm, clearly torn between obeying Jim and pleasuring you with all his talents.

"Just let go, Richie. Let me fuck you into her cunt tonight." Jim grips Rich's hips and slams in hard, roughly. He quickly begins pounding into his twin, pushing Rich deeper into you. You pull Rich down and kiss him, clinging to him. Everything is hot and loud, the smell of sex filling the room as you near the edge (too much alcohol and too much build up). Jim reaches around Rich and plays with your clit, sending you over with a scream, but Rich doesn't finish yet.

"Good boy for Daddy, waiting for permission." Jim catches Rich's lips, kissing him while he shifts and pounds into his prostate. "Now you can cum for me. Scream for me."

It's Jim's name that echoes in the room as Rich cums, filling the condom and pulling his twin over the edge. They collapse on top of you, and there are a few confusing moments when you're not really sure who is kissing whom. You hear the door open and you look up, a fucking drop-dead gorgeous blonde standing there all in black leather.

"Jim? What the fuck is going on?"

"Nightingale brought a friend home to play, Tiger."

The blonde shakes his head, muttering about insane twins and shuts the door again. Rich and Jim burst into giggles and help clean everything up. "That was Seb, Jim's boyfriend and bodyguard. Maybe he'll play with us later."

You really don't think you'd mind.


	158. BONUS CHAPTER 6: Dinner Party- Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was blessed by the hormone fairy last weekend and saw this picture... presto chango, a chapter was born.
> 
> http://25.media.tumblr.com/0719f574d2f3e27739ddfa8f92eb07c4/tumblr_mqces6AJKz1qjmy6do1_250.png

You are the perfect hostess tonight: a nice pale dress hugs your frame, simple pearls, your hair pulled back and minimal makeup. Low, strappy wedge shoes complete your ensemble as you walk around, blithely chatting to your guests and their spouses. You know Ben will be back soon with what you need. Of course you forgot the finishing touch for dinner in your mad rush to put everything together.

He breezes through the door a few moments later, fresh basil in a shopping bag (you have _got_ to get a new pot of it for your window box) and a stunning bouquet of roses. You blush when Martin teases Ben about the flowers, but your boyfriend simply smirks at his friend and steals a kiss from you. "I thought I'd bring an old fashioned token of affection."

You shake your head, still blushing. "They're beautiful."

"Like you."

"Oh shush." But you kiss him again and go put the flowers in water, setting the vase in the middle of the table before chopping up the basil and serving the ratatouille. Putting the bowls of stew on the table, you call everyone in for dinner. Martin and Amanda are whispering together, and you can hear Steven and Sue conspiring about _Sherlock_ and _Doctor Who_ , both of which you watch religiously.

Ben joins you at the table, pulling out your chair and making you blush as red as the flowers; Martin makes another quip, and Amanda playfully smacks his shoulder. You smile politely back and roll your eyes. "Some men still cling to old fashioned notions, Martin. I don't mind being treated like a lady every once in awhile, especially since I'm anything but most of the time."

That gets a laugh out of Steven, and Ben squeezes your hand under the table. Martin shakes it off easily, and everyone digs in to dinner. It's one of your favorite meals, something you learned to cook when you were younger, and it is a huge hit with your company. They all have seconds, and after another round of wine, you head into the kitchen to get dessert ready. Ben follows you, waiting until the door closes to give you a hug from behind and kiss you just below your ear. You close your eyes, feeling his arms wrap around you. "I'm sorry Martin keeps making jokes."

"He's just jealous."

Your lover chuckles, nipping the skin he's been kissing, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. "I love how sensitive you are," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes you shiver whenever you hear it. "Perhaps I should see about pulling more gasps from you later."

Shaking your head and trying to get rid of the flush in your cheeks, you give him the plates and forks, getting the cake you made and bringing it in.

"What took you so long? Benedict being less than a gentleman?"

"Perhaps, but would you really want to know, Martin?"

"Of course he would, darling. Martin is ever the nosy bugger."

Steven bursts into laughter as you serve the cake, pouring everyone another glass of wine. "And remember, Martin, don't put the cake in your eyes."

Benedict snorts into his food, nearly choking. Amanda winks at you and, when everyone finishes, she insists on helping you clean up "So, how are things with you two?"

You can't stop blushing while you put away the leftover ratatouille. "It's...it's wonderful. He's a perfect gentleman and so thoughtful and adorable and when he's aroused his voice goes straight between my legs and I'm not even getting into what he's like in bed." Your ears a crimson now as you glance bashfully back at Amanda.

She waved it off. "It's perfectly fine, we're all girls here."

"What's that about all girls?"

"Martin, get out of the kitchen."

He pulls Amanda in for a kiss. "Steven and Sue invited us back to theirs, can we go?"

"Sure, I'll be there in a moment."

He leaves, closing the door behind him and you both start laughing. "Look at him, asking for permission," you tease.

"What can I say? He adores me."

You give Amanda a hug and thank her for coming to dinner, shouting your thanks to Steven and Sue before you finish cleaning the kitchen. You hear the door close but you don't really pay much attention until Benedict wraps his arms around you from behind, startling you.

"Ben, you scared-" You can't finish because he tips your head to the side and captures your lips in a gentle but teasing kiss.

"Now that they're all finally gone, I can have my way with you," he purrs against your mouth, teasing your lips open with his tongue before kissing you a little bit deeper. You groan into his mouth, kissing back and trying to turn around but he easily holds you in place, content for the moment to tease. You give in, reaching your arms up and around his neck, your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

A few minutes later, he pulls you around fully, pushing you against the nearest wall and kissing you more firmly. You love it when he's dominant, everything about his body, his voice, even his eyes reducing you into a puddle of a girl. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself between him and the wall.

"Oh my darling," he rumbles, sucking on your neck. "You want me right here?"

You can hear the teasing in his voice as he kisses your ear, making you shiver as you kick off your shoes. "You know I want you everywhere, Ben."

He growls and drags you to the sofa, pulling your dress off and draping it over the nearest chair, groaning with approval at your nearly bare form. His fingers trace down your body, dipping into your knickers briefly before disappearing into his mouth. "Oh come _on_ , Ben," you growl, but he merely stares at you as if looking into your soul, the look that he knows takes your breath away.

"Ever such an impatient girl," and then he's pinned you to the sofa, kissing you breathless while his fingers tease your nipples through your bra while he grinds against your center. The rest of your clothes come off in a whirl, as do his, until you're both naked, staring at each other until you can't stand the tension any longer. You reach down and stroke him, guiding him to your entrance until he sinks into you with a low, wanton groan. His hair is curly and messy, worse now that you're holding onto it for dear life as he has you on the sofa, rolling his hips slowly at first but soon speeding up so that he's pounding away at you.

It isn't until you feel his fingers at your clit and his mouth on your neck that you break, crying his name for the whole flat to hear until he empties himself inside you; the pair of you collapse on the sofa, panting and giggling in post-orgasm euphoria.

"So... so what brought that on?" you ask, brushing damp curls from his face.

"Oh... nothing... just thought you looked beautiful tonight."

"Benedict..."

"All right, it was a bet with Martin that we hadn't had sex everywhere in the flat."

You burst out laughing. "R-really? A bet? Benny, luv, we _have_ had sex everywhere in the flat."

"Yeah, but I didn't tell him about the chair he was sitting on at dinner, now did I?"


	159. Ice- Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heat wave has been unbearable here as well, so on Saturday, LadyCorvidae was blessed by the hormone fairy... here is the result.

It's too damn hot in your flat- the air conditioning is broken and you are resorting to fans to keep cool, well, that and wearing barely anything. It's just too uncomfortable to wear clothes. You hear the soft sound of the door opening and turn your head to see Jim walk through, looking ruffled and pissed off. He's in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, and you know it _must_ be bad if he has foregone his usual Westwood.

"Christ, can't you do something about the heat in this godforsaken flat of yours?" he complains as he walks in.

"Too hot to move," you complain. He eyes you, laying on the couch in your knickers and a sports bra, reading a book. A wicked light comes into his eyes and a smirk curls its way onto his lips. You know that look. "Oh, Jim, not today. It's even too hot to fuck," you whine. He simply snorts and goes to the fridge. You turn back to your book and you hear him clattering around then walk to you, standing by your feet. You shriek and jump as something cold and wet makes contact with the soles of your feet, your book flung to the other side of the room in your surprise.

Jim is standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face and a bowl of ice cubes in his hands. "I think I found us a way to beat the heat _and_ fuck, darling," he purrs. "After all, I've been thinking of your cunt for the past three days now, and I need a taste so badly that I'm resorted to wearing this shit to come see you and not make much of a statement in doing so."

Your eyes go wide in lust. He knows how much it turns you on when he talks to you like that. "Do tell. What's your idea, then?" you ask, your voice hoarse with arousal. He chuckles.

"Now that'd be cheating, and you know how much I love a surprise, sweetness. Speaking of sweetness…" he says, eyeing your knickers contemplatively. He takes an ice cube from the bowl and sucks on it, narrowing one end into a soft point that he trails down your torso, from the edge of your sports bra to the hem of your knickers. You gasp and arch upwards, the cool of the ice a delicious contrast to the heat of the day. Your eyes flutter shut, and you fail to notice when he slips his hands underneath them, only to have them pop open again and a cry leave your mouth when you feel the cold of the ice cube between your labia.

You watch as he removes the cube and pops it into his mouth, relishing the taste of you and the coolness of the ice cube on his tongue. That does it. Your clothes come off and you hold the bowl as he strips out of his.

"On the floor, love. Not enough room on the couch," he commands, and you scramble to obey. He takes a tie that he'd left there some time ago (he's always leaving things around here from when he stops by for a quick fuck or even a cuddle) and blindfolds you. "Now lie still or I'll stop." You swallow hard- you love it when he does this. Eagerly, you settle yourself, waiting for whatever will come next.

You fight not to buck as you feel the cold between your breasts, then hiss as he places an ice cube on each nipple. You realize that he has another reason for making you stay still. He kisses his way down, lapping up the melting water as he goes, the heat of his tongue nearly unbearable. Then you moan as he slips two fingers inside of you, curling them gently forward. "Oh yes… so hot for me, always," he purrs, nipping your earlobe in a harsh bite. "Should cool you down a bit so I don't burn myself, then." You nearly cry, because you know what's coming next.

The slickness of an ice cube slowly replaces his fingers and you dig your fingers into the plush carpet on the floor as you sob- it's so _cold_ and it feels so strange, but so delicious. Then there's the maddening swipes of his tongue as he drinks both your juices and the melting water that drips out of you. With another ice cube, he circles your clit, and you're nearly falling to pieces. When he moves the ice away and suckles the little bud between your legs, you shatter with a scream that nearly makes you hoarse. You can feel the self-satisfied grin on his face against your pulsing sex, the stubble scratching the tender flesh of your inner thighs as you ride out the waves of your pleasure against his mouth.

"Now, that should about do it," he says. Then you feel something hot against your entrance, and he groans as he pushes his cock inside you. You're so keyed up that you can barely stand it, still aroused even after your orgasm.

"God, Jim, fuck me… own me. I'm yours…" you say. You know that he loves it when you talk like that, and the sudden tightening of his grip on your hips tells you that your words have had their desired effect.

"Yes… you're _mine_. My perfect little cunt, my lover, my whore, _mine_. All mine, always mine," he snarls as he ruthlessly fucks you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and your panting little cries loud in the stillness of the day. Your hands curl into claws and drag down his back, leaving marks and possibly drawing blood. He howls at that, and you can feel the twitch of his cock inside your cunt as he releases his seed deep inside you, making you cum a second time, shrieking his name to the sky. When he's finished, he collapses on you, breathing hard. The both of you lay there, sticky with sweat and each other, and Jim takes off your blindfold.

"Jesus fucking Christ… I never thought I'd like the heat wave, but I might have to change my mind," you say, voice husky. He smirks.

"Come on- a cold shower for both of us, and then… I think your bed will be a better place for round two. Even if I do like seeing you with rug burn on your back from where I fucked you into the ground," he says, helping you up as he stands. You squeak as he slaps your arse.

"Yeah… but this time, it'll be _my_ turn with the ice cubes," you say. His raised eyebrow tells you that he likes the idea. You'll definitely take pages from his book to use against him. After all, you did learn from the best.


	160. In the Garden- Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Lestrades_Lady: Second request: How about some Lestrade/Narrator where everything's the same as in the show ... BUT it's set in the Victorian era of the original stories? Enjoyed the Riddell/OFC chapters so much that now I want more historical stuff!

The garden party that you are attending with the man you're promised to is, you have to admit, growing quite dull: the same scandals, the same stories, the same ladies twittering over the same dresses. You wander through the crowd, his hand on your elbow steering you gently. Your thoughts turn to him; Gregory Lestrade is, in your opinion, one of the best men that you've met. He's patient, kind, and attentive. He treats you like a person, not a piece of pretty decoration as most men are wont to do, and when you're alone, you know that he has the wickedest sense of humor, causing you to blush.

That's not the only thing about him that's wicked, though. His kisses (for you have kissed… and done more) are like the finest French wine, going straight to your head and sex, making your thoughts run around each other in circles. When your father first announced that he had found a marriage offer for you, you despaired and were ready to run away from home. However, your best friend told you to wait and you were glad that you did. Gregory was nothing less than the perfect gentleman. He showed how much he listened to your father about your likes and dislikes, bringing you a copy of Dante's _Inferno_ , much to your mother's clucking disapproval.

Over time, you grew to love him, and he to love you. More often than not, he gave you little gifts, and you made him ones in return, little embroidered handkerchiefs or getting him things with your limited pocket money. He'd send you notes, the sweet words making you smile and blush. You never told him, but you slept with them under your pillow at night, as if you could hear him whispering them into your ear.

The first time that you two were properly alone together, he waited for a while before biting his lip, then leaning in and kissing you. Both of you were surprised when you responded with great fervor. In your unsupervised meetings later, you both took more liberties with each other; his hand under your skirt and bloomers, yours wandering over the bulge in his tight trousers, making him groan and buck into your touch.

You're lost in these thoughts and the lascivious nature of them makes the tips of your ears turn red. You start when Gregory leans over and murmurs gently into them, the words making you shiver and your face warm. "I think we should go for a walk about the hedge maze, don't you?" You nod and he makes his excuses in the conversation, saying that you need air. His hand now in the small of your back, he guides you outside into the cooler night breezes.

You both wander for a time, making sure that you're both out of sight and earshot from the main house. There is no one else wandering the maze with you, and you are grateful for this fact, especially when Gregory drags you into a secluded alcove with a stone bench, pulling you down to sit with him.

"These things are so _boring_ ," he laments, and you agree. Then you see the wicked smile grow on his face and you feel your heart pound. "I think that we could have a much better time out here on our own, stuffy company excluded, don't you?" he murmurs. You nod, eyes wide and dark. He bends his head and kisses you, one hand cupping your face, the other on the back of your neck. Your arms are around his shoulders and without quite realizing it, you end up in his lap. It's only when you shift your hips and he breaks the kiss to rest his head on your shoulder and groan that you come to know just where and how you're sitting.

"Minx," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "God, I want to have you, right now." You feel the thrill of want and excitement go through you and you nod.

"Then take me," you murmur back, and his eyes go wide.

"You're serious?" he asks, making certain, and you grin. You feel his cock grow beneath his trousers, and he kisses the breath out of you, both of your hands fumbling with the voluminous fabric of your skirts. You straddle him a little wider as he undoes his trousers and frees himself, then drags down your bloomers so that you can feel the heat of your skin. His hands explore you first, his clever, thick fingers brushing the soaked seam of your sex, making you gasp as they come in contact with a little protrusion at the head of it. He grins; he's a man of the world, so he knows what he's doing as he works it with his thumb, making your hips move on their own.

When you think you're about to die from the teasing, he slips a finger inside of you. The intrusion is… odd, to say the least, but you soon grow accustomed to it and want more. You don't have to worry about your maidenhead; it's been gone for many years, after you spent much of your childhood on horseback. He hisses as he feels the tight heat of you clench around it, adding another finger, curling and twisting them in a beckoning motion. You bite your lip as you rock faster, and just as suddenly as he slid them inside you, his fingers are gone. You whine in protest.

"Eager little chit, aren't you," he says, his voice rough. You nod, not caring. He positions the head of his cock against your entrance and helps you slowly sink down on it. It hurts, being stretched so wide, but he eases you through it, taking long pauses and whispering words of love and encouragement into your ear as you tremble slightly. Finally, you have him inside you all the way to the hilt.

"Right… now, move with me, follow my lead," he says, his voice a bit strangled. He helps you rock your hips, and you're reminded, once more, of horseback riding. Soon, you don't need his guidance anymore and are making a rhythm of your own, searching for that bright edge that you felt earlier. You wish that you were naked before him and he before you, so you could closer examine and properly appreciate the man that he is, but there will be time enough for that later. His breathing is harsh and you rock faster.

Suddenly, his hands shoot down and find the little nub of flesh between your legs and caress it as you fuck him, and soon you're gone in a blaze of light and heat and pleasure, biting down on the heel of your hand to stifle your cries that you're sure would be able to be heard from the main house, should you give them voice. You whisper his name as your inner muscles seize and shudder around him, and soon he's pumping rapidly into you, his cock swelling and twitching. He releases with a hoarse groan, holding your hips so tightly that you're sure that they'll bruise.

The pair of you stay still for a while, catching your breath as you feel him soften inside of you. He withdraws and helps clean you up and replace your rumpled clothing, brushing the dust from the masonry of the bench off of your skirt and the seat of his trousers. You giggle and share sweet, soft kisses as you both continue to walk around the maze, eager to find the center. Your wedding day can't come soon enough, and you'd gladly attend a dozen more garden parties, if this could always be the result you acquired.


	161. Desperate- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Sebastian was so wound up yesterday that I could barely think... I have never written a prompt so quickly. Ever.

He storms into the flat, more worked up than you think you've ever seen him in your life. The blonde walks right over to you, dragging you up from the sofa and pushing you against the nearest wall, his mouth mere centimeters from your neck so you feel his hot breath on your skin. You keep thinking you should be terrified, but you aren't. You know he does something dangerous for a living, you have found his guns even if you haven't said anything... and _goodness_ he's a sight all in black and leather.

"You've no idea how ravenous I am, _pet_ ," he snarls, biting at your neck and sucking a dark hickey into the skin above your collar. "And I plan to eat you up."

You swallow hard, eyes wide as he pulls back, his normally beautiful blue eyes almost demon black. "Y-yes, Sebastian. Yes _Tiger_."

He pulls you through to the bedroom, stripping you and tying your wrists to the headboard. "Don't want my pet escaping," he mutters as he strips, already rock hard and at attention. You know you'll never tire of seeing his gorgeous cock ache for you, even as he pounces, kissing you breathless into the mattress while his fingers mercilessly tease your clit and your pussy, dipping in only to slide alone the outside, not giving you anything you want and only working you into a frenzy.

"Seb, Sebby _please_ -"

"Please _what_?"

Oh god. You don't beg, you _never_ beg. "Please fuck me, Seb. Please I really, really need it." You're aching between your legs, desperate for anything so that when he does consent and fills you with his length you scream, nearly shattering right there. His eyes sparkle with inhuman fire as he tortures your nipples with his mouth while he rolls his hips, grinding you down against the mattress with every thrust.

It's torture to not be able to touch, to pull on his hair, to do anything, but he loves it when you're captive and helpless, completely at his mercy. He sucks your nipples until they ache, stimulating almost every single nerve inside your body with each thrust while he litters your neck and chest with bites and hickeys. His nails drag lightly down your sides before settling on your hips, and then he _really_ picks up speed, slamming into you so fast and so hard that you cum twice before you even really manage to comprehend what it happening. All you know is you're surrounded by his heat, his scent, those eyes, those gorgeous eyes that take you apart, and finally you hear him roar and feel him pour inside you before collapsing to the bed.

You try and catch your breath while he pulls out and rolls over, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

"Tiger?"

"Mmm?"

"Could you maybe uncuff me?"

He smirks. "Who said I was finished yet?"


	162. The Tiger- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LadyCorvidae wrote this immediately after I finished 161... It's not exactly a sequel.

You swallow hard. "I know," you say gently, but you tilt your chin upwards in defiance. You know he likes it when you pretend to resist- it's more fun for him that way, to 'break' you when, in fact, you both know that you are more than willing. Despite his rough exterior and his harsh demeanor, Seb would never force you.

"I was just wondering whether or not to get a drink and some food before I continue. I've been at work with no break for ages."

You bite your tongue to protest- you want him _now_ , especially when he's so temptingly promised what you need, what _he_ needs. "I've got some leftover steak and veg in the fridge, if you want it," you say, noting that your voice is slightly strained. He grins.

"Yeah, that'd be lovely. And a glass of that Laphroaig would be great too, pet," he says, sharp teeth and sharp eyes glittering. You walk off to get his food, muttering under your breath as your sex pulses with thwarted arousal as you reheat it and bring it to him, glass of whiskey in hand as well.

"Here. Eat up," you say, even though you're tense. You know he can sense it, and it sets you just that much more on edge. You stomp off this time, to the bedroom you call yours. He can find you when he's done, the git.

Since he's eating, you decide that you can take matters into your own hands. You reach under the bed to find your box of toys that you utilize when your lover is away on long stakeouts (you're not stupid- you know what he does; you've seen him come home covered in blood splatter and smelling of cordite and sulfur) and you need the release. You take your favorite one out; it's just a tad smaller than he is, but it's close enough. You shimmy your jeans and knickers down to your knees, not bothering to take them off all the way. You click the toy on to its lowest setting, holding it right to your clit, making you arch a bit as you slowly cycle it upwards, feeling its pulses take you higher. You slide it inside you and whine as you click on the button that makes it rotate, stroking your inner walls. You know your noises are soft enough to be decent, but you also know that Seb has excellent hearing, and the sudden lack of sound from the dining room clues you in that he's listening. You smirk and grind harder into the toy, moaning a bit louder. If he can tease you, you can definitely return the favor.

Your eyes flutter shut as you work the toy in and out of you, and then you hear a growl and the vibrator is abruptly shut off and taken from you. "What the fu-" you say indignantly, but your curse is cut off as Seb covers your mouth with his. He tastes of whiskey and red meat and good God, that shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. He wrenches your jeans and knickers down to your ankles, shoves up your shirt and pushes down your bra, not even bothering to unclasp it first as he unforgivingly thumbs your nipples into aching tightness, then punishes them by suckling hard and nipping at them with his sharp teeth. You cry out and wind your hands in his blond curls, tangling them in the ponytail that he now sports (too short to be a proper one, long enough to have you climbing the walls when he's on a long hunt and you need a good shag- picturing it is not the same, though).

You can feel his cock twitching insistently through the fabric of his trousers and he flips you over so you're on your hands and knees. You hear the rasp of his zip and then the tease of the head of his cock against the slickness of your entrance. "Filthy bitch in heat, you like that, don't you?" he growls darkly in your ear. You sob an affirmation and he grabs your hips roughly, sliding into you in one smooth thrust, making you feel the metal teeth of the zip of his fly- he hasn't even bothered undressing, and for some reason, that makes you nearly go wild. He winds one hand in your hair, one method of control, the other still holding on to your hip. He begins to roll his, and he yanks your head back so he can kiss you, brutally, stealing your breath.

Then that hand is gone and both of them are on your hips again, and you feel the bite of his teeth on the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. You realize, numbly, in some forgotten corner of your mind, that he's holding you in place like a male tiger would when mating a female, whether he realizes it or not. He pulls out and then slams deep into you, making you wail as he sets an unforgiving pace.

As he fucks you into the mattress, one hand moves from your hips to circle your clit, pushing you to the edge more than you already have been. You manage to gasp something out about being close, and he snarls, redoubling his efforts. When you feel his teeth break your skin, that makes you fall over, cumming hard around his cock and shrieking his name to the heavens. He lets out a nearly sub-vocal growl as you feel him twitch inside you and spill his seed, fire flooding your womb. He's slow to pull out, admiring his handiwork- you, a panting mess, bleeding slightly and cum dripping from your well-fucked pussy. He gets a cloth and tenderly starts cleaning you up.

"Never forget that you are _mine_. And don't use a toy when I'm in the flat- hurts m'feelings. And I'll be sure to come in and remind you that the real thing is _so_ much better," he murmurs into your ear as he curls up beside you after pulling the rest of your clothing off. You sleepily nod, your vibrator off to one side, forgotten for the moment. Despite his warning, you know that you're going to have him remind you… again and again and again.


	163. Revenge- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by LadyCorvidae: Sequel to Chapter 130 where Lestrade reverses your roles, you're now the sub to his Dom

_"You should know better than to deny me touch, luv because next time,_ _you'll_ _be the one bound and_ _I'll_ _have my hands everywhere."_

oOoOo

You really should know better than to take a nap in your flat, although, in your defense, you didn't know Greg would be home early and you had been through a very trying day at work and just needed some much desired rest. None of that changes the fact that you wake up naked and cuffed to your bed with your boyfriend standing over you.

"Well... looks like my pretty little slut is awake," he purrs, running a hand through his hair and down his neck. You know immediately that he's teasing, taunting you with the fact that your wrists are restrained and his hands are free. You open your mouth to respond, but he places a finger to your lips. "How are you addressing me, pet?" He raises an eyebrow, almost daring you to step out of line.

"Master," you whisper, not dropping your gaze. He slaps you very gently on the cheek and you drop your gaze. Greg beams and kisses you.

"Good girl. Now, I rather like looking at you like this."

Glancing at your body, you only now realize that you're naked except for your knickers. The warmth of the room and the bedclothes hadn't even alerted you to this. Greg makes a show of looking you up and down before taking your breasts in his hands, squeezing and massaging them until your nipples start to harden. His clever fingers take the nubs and pinch them, twisting and pulling until you gasp and strain against the cuffs... but his fingers are nothing compared to his mouth. His teeth tug harder, drawing sharper whimpers from you while his tongue makes you moan. Just when you think they might fall off before he finished with them, Greg starts kissing down your stomach, taking the waistband of your panties in his teeth and pulling them down and off your legs.

Your sex feels chilled as the air hits the dampness between your legs. Greg is starting to strip now, but all he does is pull his hard cock out of his trousers; your eyes widen. He's going to fuck you with his clothes on. You groan and strain again, careful not to speak unless ordered to.

Your lover smirks and spreads your legs, his fingers dragging through the wetness of your sex. "What do you want, my little slave?"

"You... to fuck me... please Master."

"You think you deserve my thick cock? What makes you think that?"

Your face burns with embarrassment and arousal. "Because I'm needy and I need your cock, Master."

"Well I _suppose_..." He takes a packet of lube from his trousers and pours it on his cock, slicking up the organ before pressing your legs open further, his tip aimed at your entrance. He looks up at you as he enters your body, watching as your face contorts in pleasure and as always, a little bit of surprise at how big he is. With a snarl, Greg buries himself in you, his mouth at your ear as he starts thrusting.

"Nowhere to go, nowhere to run, you're all mine, bound and spread and _gorgeous_. You like how I fuck your sweet, dripping cunt? You like how my bare cock feels inside you? You're like wet velvet, all smooth and tight for me."

You cry out for him, clenching as he rides you hard, slamming into you until you can feel the soreness creeping into your muscles, but he's still not done, denying you the right amount of friction to finish. " _Beg_ ," he hisses, sucking on your ear.

"Please!" you cry out, arching against him and trying to find much needed friction and pressure for your clit.

Gripping one of your hips, Greg steadies you, pounding away at your g-spot while his other hand circles your clit, finally rubbing it and tweaking it until you cum, screaming his name and thrashing beneath him. Seeing you lose control has him spilling himself into you, pouring into your body until he is spent.

"Oh fuck... that was wonderful... Greg?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you uncuff me now?"

"Oh..."

"What did you do?"

"I knicked those from Anderson and forgot the key."

"You _what_?!"

He looks a bit sheepish. "I think I can pick it... no. No I can't. Sherlock stole my kit and I haven't replaced it."

"So what. Do we do. _Now?_ "

Greg gives you a wicked smirk, kissing you deeply. "That's entirely up to me, isn't it, _pet_?"

"Oh _yes_ , Master... but when I get out of these cuffs, you're gonna get it."


	164. Knowing How to Use It- Mycroft and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by flubber2kool: I would like to see a Mystrade+1 threesome in the back of of Mycroft's car!!! (I am seeing it as being big enough!! ;) )
> 
> Requested by Norwaycat: - I'd love to hear more from Mycroft, Lestrade and reader!
> 
> LadyCorvidae about near melted my panties with this one... dear god help me

You've gotten a message from Mycroft that you're needed. Of course, this is right before your break. You sigh- as much as you think your boss is fuckable (despite the icy demeanor), this is going to be annoying. You check the location of where he needs you, and your brow furrows. His… car? You're a secretary, not a mechanic. But this is _Mycroft Holmes_ and you've learned not to question him. You make your way to the garage where the black, luxurious car is parked. You see no one in the driver's side, and the doors are unlocked. You open it and slide in, shutting the door behind you.

Instantly, your sense of smell is flooded with the scent of pricy leather and sex. Your eyes go wide- Mycroft is currently getting head from that absolute dish of a DI, Greg Lestrade. His head is thrown back and you can barely see his cock from where Greg has it in his mouth, poking out of the zip of his trousers. The British Government hears the door shut, and opens his eyes lazily. "Good, you received my message," he said, voice strangled, but no less even and cultured. Greg ceases his ministrations, wiping his mouth and leering; your panties are instantly soaked. "Greg is quite the exhibitionist, apparently, and since you think I- what was it? 'Have a huge knob and he probably know just how to use it', I chose _you_ to be our… audience," he continues. Your face burns- that was a direct quote from the company Christmas party- you were nearly three sheets to the wind and you were talking to one of your girl friends in the office at the time, but of _course_ he would have heard it.

You can't help but look down, and you swallow hard. Your prediction is correct. Mycroft is certainly blessed with a sizable cock, now spit-shiny and slick from where Greg's mouth has been. "And I, for one, have been wanting a taste of you for a while. Ever since you flashed a bit of skin when I was coming up the stairs," the DI says, his voice rough. Your eyes go wider still- that was the day that you wore your new thong to work and an ill-timed gust of wind had tugged up your skirt. Greg had been a few steps below, and you had thought that he hadn't seen, but apparently he had.

Mycroft clears his throat. "If you do not wish to continue, you may leave and shall be well-compensated for your silence," he said, the threat in his voice slight, but there.

You shake your head rapidly. "No," you say, breathless. "I want this. Very, _very_ much." Both of the men wear matching predatory grins. Mycroft decides to start off the proceedings.

"Well then. We shall begin." Clothing is parted and shed in the blink of an eye, and the crotch of your stockings are ripped open, your skirt rucked up to your waist and your knickers shoved aside. Greg spreads your knees apart and starts laying soft, ticklish kisses to your sensitive inner thighs, causing your breath to catch and a giggle to escape your throat. It changes into a moan as the kisses become teasing little nips, the slight sting of teeth a contrast of pain that blooms behind the pleasure. Suddenly, the DI cries out, his face screwed up in a mask of concentration and ecstasy. Mycroft has donned a condom and is sinking into Greg, sweat beading on his pale brow. "Oh, fuck, Myc, give a man some warning," he gasps, even as he rocks back to take him deeper. "You're right, love. He has the _biggest_ knob, and he does know how to use it. Next time, it'll be you on the receiving end of it," he manages to say. Then he puts his tongue to better uses than talking.

He trails a hot, wet line up through your labia, circling around your clit. He places wet, sucking kisses there, making you bury your fingers into his silver hair and _tug_ , making him groan against your hot cunt. He begins tonguing a rhythm against you, matching Mycroft's thrusts, moaning into you in pleasure. Your hips cant upwards, trying to get more stimulation. Greg trails his mouth down, using his fingers to spread you open. Then he's tongue-fucking you, moving it as deep inside you as he can, lapping up your juices. You keen at the feeling, bucking upwards with more urgency. Apparently this inspires Mycroft, as you can feel his thrusts speed up, balls slapping against Greg's arse.

Greg whines as Mycroft hits his prostate, and his own hips buck. You move his mouth away from you. He looks up, questioning. You look past him to Mycroft, who sees the idea forming in your head. He smiles thinly, then drags Greg into his lap, facing you. The DI hisses as his lover is forced deeper inside him, and then Mycroft begins to thrust upwards. You begin toying with yourself as you watch them fuck, fingers dipping into your soaking channel. Greg looks, his eyes dilated so wide that they look black, his cock iron hard and twitching. "Oh- that's- just- not- _fair_ ," he gasps, each word leaving him as Mycroft bucks into him. Leaning forward, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you towards them. He waits for his lover's nod, then settles you over him, legs straddling his hips.

He drags you down and lets you sink onto his needy cock. You throw your head back in a cry of pleasure as he penetrates you, filling you to the hilt. Then, gloriously, all of you begin to move. Mycroft into Greg into you, all working towards that one goal. Mycroft is first to come, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he bucks erratically. Greg is next, one hand playing with your clit as the other one is wrapped in your hair. He spills himself inside you with a grunt, fingers tightening against your scalp, feeling his hot seed soak your insides. He presses hard to that sensitive bud of nerves and you are the last to reach completion. You go stiff, mouth open in a wordless cry of ecstasy, as you shatter and pulse around the DI's softening cock inside you, before half-collapsing on him.

You disentangle from each other, replacing clothing and cleaning up, wiping up spills. The car just reeks of sweat, sex and cum now, and you wonder if Mycroft will have an explanation for that. He probably will. As you all exit the vehicle, straightening now impossibly wrinkled clothes, the DI eyes the both of you. Mycroft gives a slight smile. "Next time, I think we shall move this to mine. More comfortable, and we don't have to risk being interrupted," he says smoothly.

Greg winks at you. "And we'll have more time to experiment," he drawls. You can merely nod, smiling, as you follow them out of the parking garage.


	165. BONUS CHAPTER 7: Hobbit Boy- Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock-ilicous: I'd appreciate some Martin Freeman, as well.
> 
> I felt like we've been neglecting Martin/John, so I bumped this one up. I've also taken advantage of the fact that we know he cusses quite a bit, hence some of his language. I doubt you will mind, and it's all done in honor and good fun.

You get off the plane in New Zealand, a bit groggy but thrilled you slept most of the way there. As you walk out of the terminal and grab your bag, there's a man in a 'Hobbit' crew shirt waiting for you, holding a sign with your name. Smiling, you follow him to the car, driving from Wellington out to where the studios are. The day is winding down, and Martin has the weekend off, just to spend with you.

He, along with the company of dwarves and a wizard are at the gate to greet you when you arrive, much to you surprise, delight, and embarrassment. Each of the dwarves introduces himself and bows before pulling you into a crushing hug (Bifur and Bofur help when it's Bombur's turn). Sir Ian is really nice and seems so much taller in person, and he doesn't hesitate to tease you before moving aside, letting you throw yourself into Martin's arms for the first time in three months.

He hugs you tightly for a solid minute, just breathing you in while you do the same. "You look like a hobbit," you whisper, giggling. He moves back just a little so he can see you properly, pinching your arse as he does. You jump, blushing and trying not to squeak as the dwarves all roar with laughter.

"Shut the fuck up, babe," he growls before kissing you hard, something of a relief after months of being apart. You're almost more eager for anything and everything he can give you in that moment, just from the separation. He kisses you deep and dirty, sucking on your tongue and getting a good grip in your hair. When you break apart, you realize how much you love his wig, how adorable he looks and you just start giggling. "What? What is it?"

"You're just so _cute_."

His eyes darken and he pulls you in for another kiss, earning a few hoots and hollers from the dwarves. "Let me get my feet off and then I'll show you how 'cute' I am, babe."

Thorin himself escorts you to Martin's trailer as your boyfriend goes to give back his costume before he gets his feet off. "He's spoken of nothing but your arrival for three days. We've all seen pictures but you're far lovlier in person." You bite your lip and blush, mumbling your thanks. He grins to see you flustered and stops in front of Martin's trailer. "Here is where I leave you."

"I thank you for your help, Master Dwarf," you tease, pretending to curtsey. He bows, grinning at you as he heads back to costume and makeup. You let yourself in, setting your suitcase down and getting a shower, washing off the endless hours in the airplane. You pick your favorite blue and black lace lingerie to wear after you dry off, pulling a simple blue dress on. Brushing your hair, you look around, shaking your head at the piles of mess here and there, mostly clothes. You pick things up, tidying before curling up on Martin's bed, closing your eyes just for five minutes.

oOoOo

You wake up to find Martin straddling you, kissing your neck. You start and he catches your lips, kissing you hungrily. "You looked so delectable while you slept, I couldn't help myself."

"Oh? And did you like what you found?"

"You can fucking bet I did. I just haven't had a chance to really explore yet."

"Do it already, Hobbit boy. You still look _adorable_."

He growls, pulling your dress off over your head and eyeing your choice of undergarments. "Dressed like a fucking minx," he groans, burying his head in your belly and kissing, licking, nipping before going up to your breasts and giving them the same treatment. He pinches your nipples through the fabric, tweaking and teasing them as he kisses up your neck. "Your skin is divine, I cannot _wait_ to taste your cunt."

You had forgotten what his talking dirty did to you. You moan, shifting against him, trying to press closer. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"I want to watch you squirm." He sucks on the skin just below your ear, making your body twitch. "I've had nothing but my hand to comfort me for three months."

"And I've had nothing but my toys, yes it's been terrible being separated, but Martin, don't you fucking _dare_ make me wait any longer."

"Then you fucking better be ready to fucking scream."

You pull him back in for another frantic kiss, delving into his mouth with your tongue as you grind up against him; your knickers are drenched, and his fingers insist on just rubbing the damp fabric against your vagina, pressing it in just a touch before finally giving in and stripping your underwear. His clothes go flying as well, and he spreads your legs, examining you before diving in, his tongue dragging up and down your folds and his mouth suckling your clit, driving you mad. You pull at his hair, trying to drag him back up, but he grips your hips, holding you down until he has you balanced on the edge. Only then does he pull away, his lips and chin glistening with you.

"What? Had you forgotten how I can tease? How much I enjoy watching you squirm?"

You shake your head. You hadn't forgotten, but it had been so long, _three months_ without a single touch or caress from him.

"I've been waiting all day, all throughout shooting for you, for your hot, tight little cunt, hungry for my cock as I know it must be." His grin widens as he licks and nips back up your stomach to your lips, kissing you, letting you taste your own juices. "I'm going to watch your face as I fuck you, see _exactly_ what I do to you with every little movement."

You gasp as he presses into you, filling you in the way you've been trying to compensate for with toys but haven't been able to replicate. He's hot and throbbing inside you, and Martin's eyes are focused intently on your face. As soon as he's settled, he hooks your legs over his shoulders and slams into you, rocking the trailer. You shriek and he's off, pounding you relentlessly, torturing your poor nipples with his fingers as he pulls out and slams back in, over and over and over.

"Take my cock, perfect pet. You like that? You like how it feels when I ride you hard? When I watch how you twist and scream?" He growls and bites at your neck, his hands roaming all over your skin, feeling everything they can before teasing your clit in slow, tantalizing circles.

"Shit!!! Oh please, Martin _please_!"

"Please what, _slut_?"

Your eyes blow wider and you whimper. He only ever calls you that when he's truly desperate and as close to the edge as you are right now. "Let me cum."

"Then do it. Cum screaming for me," he orders, biting your nipples.

You throw your head back in a scream, breaking not once, but twice in a blaze of white light and torturous heat, vaguely aware of him filling you up and kissing your forehead. You're exhausted from the flight, from the frantic love making, and now you just want to sleep. He cleans you both up with a damp flannel and wraps you in his arms and then in a blanket, kissing the top of your head as you drift off, dreaming of adventures in Middle Earth with Bilbo Baggins.


	166. BONUS CHAPTER 8: Comfort- Benedict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really rather desperately needed some period comfort last week, so LadyCorvidae wrote this adorable fluffy piece of adorable fluff for me. Squeeee!

The snow is falling outside your window, thick and fast. You, however, don't notice it, as you're currently curled up beneath a down comforter and have a heating pad on your belly. It is the glorious time of month where your uterus, in the absence of a fertilized egg, sheds its blood-rich lining via muscle contractions, cleansing you in preparation for another month.

In other words- you have your period, and you're cramping like a motherfucker.

Benedict pokes his head in, his face alight with worry and sympathy. "Are you doing all right, love? I brought you some hot chocolate," he says, his voice that rich baritone that, on other days, makes your knees weak, but his concern has softened it and his endearing little lisp is present.

"You're such a doll," you manage to say, slowly working your way up into a sitting position so you can take the cup and cradle it in your palms. It smells invitingly of chocolate and peppermint, and you take a sip. He's put a good dollop of peppermint schnapps in it, and you moan in delight. "You, sir, are a prince. No no, _THE_ prince of all princes. Prince of the Universe," you say gratefully. He chuckles and sits beside you, carefully wrapping an arm around you so you don't spill.

"High praise indeed, coming from one so lovely as yourself," he said and you can't help but smile.

You sip at the hot chocolate, the alcohol in it setting off a nice internal burn, as you both watch the snow fall. The sound of his breathing is comforting, as is the scent of his skin. He's forgone the cologne today, for which you're glad. You do enjoy the scent he wears, but when it's just the smell of _Benedict_ and not any other product- well, it's intoxicating.

You rest your head on his shoulder, sighing happily. You can feel, rather than see, his smile, and he pulls you gently in closer. "Ben," you say softly, and he makes a humming noise to indicate that he's heard you. "Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch, I love you," you tell him.

He looks a little taken aback by the statement, before his face breaks into a wide, wide grin. "Good," he murmurs back, pulling you closer still and pressing  a kiss to your scalp. "Good."

You and he continue to watch the snow, only parting from each other so he can take your now-empty cup and put it in the kitchen. You can feel your eyelids drooping, and you fight to stay awake. "Go to sleep, love," he murmurs, and you do, feeling his warm, broad chest pressed to your back as he gets under the covers with you. The last thing you see before you fall asleep is the snow, and a smiling image of Ben in your head.


	167. The Thieving Magpie and a Jealous Mistress- Jim and Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Norwaycat: - Jim steals Irene's plaything (reader) and both must be put in place by Irene (bonus points if jealous Seb turns up!)

You're curled up in your favorite leather armchair in Irene's apartment when someone walks in. The shoes don't clack like your Mistress's heels, so you look up out of curiosity and see Jim Moriarty walking towards you. He frequently has dealings with your mistress, so you know full well who he is... and he looks _hot_ in that suit. Westwood, you think, only the best for the Napoleon of Crime.

"Well hello there, pet," he purrs, taking your hand and kissing it. You blush, giggling as you fight the urge to cover yourself; Irene insists you go around in only your nipple clamps and collar when you're in her flat. The clamps are simple but firm, attached by a chain that Irene can use to lead you around if she wishes, and it is this chain that Jim now tugs on. You gasp in spite of yourself, leaning towards him until your lips are inches apart. "So pliant and willing... I wonder..."

He strips before your eyes, picking you up from the chair and sitting down, pulling you forward again by the chain. "Would you like to try a real cock instead of a toy, pet?" he whispers softly, suckling your breast.

Your moan is enough of a consent that he pulls you into his lap, and he's about to impale you on his cock when-

"MORIARTY!"

Irene's voice cracks like a whip through the room, and you cringe, biting your lip, your eyes wide with fear and arousal, anticipation of punishment.

"What. Are you Doing. With _my_ pet?"

Jim smirks around you. "Just playing... and stealing."

Irene reaches around and drags you away by the chain, making you whimper. "Kneel here, pet, and watch."

You obey, watching as she forces Jim to bend over and binds him to the chair. Taking her crop, she flexes it and cracks it down across his buttocks. They turn pink before fading back to the pale flesh tone they are, a thin white line the only evidence of the hit. She does it again, and again, Jim moaning and wiggling beneath the crop. She keeps going until his arse is bright red, and you know from experience it will be hot to the touch. Only then does she get out a nice, thick new dildo, lubing it up and very slowly pressing into his arse.

"You've been had already today," she murmurs as it goes in much easier than you would have thought.

"What can I say? Tiger's very handy."

"I can imagine." She puts a cock ring on him as well before stroking him, making him moan very softly. "And as sensitive as I remembered."

Jim is forced to stay there as Irene pulls you up, throwing you over her knee and spanking you with her hand, slapping, pinching, kneading your arse until it burns. You moan and squirm, fighting the urge to mindlessly rut against her leg... but you do well enough that she kisses you as a reward. "You may suck him off, pet."

You slip to the floor as Irene ties Jim into the chair so he's sitting on the toy, completely filling and stretching him. He bites his lip, watching you with a smirk in his eye. You lean forward, licking and sucking on his tip while fondling his balls and sucking him down. He groans, rocking up into your mouth. Irene whips your arse with her crop, teasing the already over-sensitive flesh with the leather.

You hear the door but pay it no mind until Jim moans loudly, making you look up. A _gorgeous_ , hot blond is standing to the side, watching with obvious jealousy and desire. Jim cums in your mouth without warning, pouring down your throat as you swallow around him. Irene pulls you away with a final spank, leaving Jim in his chair before pushing you over into the blond's arms.

"Have at her, Sebastian. She's earned it."


	168. A Good Pet's Reward- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by LadyCorvidae: NOW WE NEED A SEQUEL TO THAT, BECAUSE GODDAMMIT YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE ME HANGING IT'S NOT /FAAAAIR./
> 
> Teehee. As you wish.

You stare up at the blond, meeting his piercing blue eyes with your own aroused gaze. He glances up at Irene. "Are you serious? What's the catch?"

"Your boss tried to fuck her without permission. Now Jim gets to watch his tiger fuck the girl he can't have."

"So you're just making Jim jealous?"

"Of course."

Seb pulls you down on the couch, his rough fingers caressing your cheeks before kissing you, almost hesitant until you pull on his hair. He snarls and pins you beneath him, grinding the bulge in his trousers against your damp sex. You moan, tugging harder, whimpering as his fingers find the chain.

"Oh but this is delicious," he purrs, pulling his cock out of his trousers. He fishes a condom out as well (a magnum, goodness gracious) and rolls it on while you watch.

Fuck. He. Is. _Huge_.

Sebastian looks up at you, his smirk absolutely wicked. You know Irene is watching, wants to see your performance as Seb fucks you, and you know you won't have to try when he pushes two fingers in, pulling them out to taste you. "Fucking hell, how does the Woman get to keep you all to herself?" he murmurs, sucking on your neck.

You stretch your neck for him, whimpering and soundlessly begging for more. He bites, sucking harder as he pushes into you, making you scream as he stretches you. You've never even had a toy this thick, and he's pulsing and throbbing between your legs, inside your body as you wrap your legs around his waist. "Please, please Master," you whisper.

He grips your wrists and rolls his hips, grinding and pressing you down with his body. "Oh, I'll fuck you all right. You won't be able to walk when I'm done." He snaps his hips and you scream again, squirming beneath him.

You hear Jim whimper to the side, hear the chair scuffing the floor as he struggles to get free and the crack of the crop as Irene whips his legs. Seb is pounding into you, slamming into your g-spot until you think you will forget completely how to breathe. He speeds up and slows down, tormenting you, tugging the chain until you think your nipples will break. He leaves bites and bruises all over your collar and neck with his mouth, rutting inside you until you're sobbing, so desperate, the fire between your legs almost unbearable.

"Please, please Sebastian, Master, _please_!"

His hand complies, giving you the friction you desire, and his name is on your lips as you cum, your sex clamping tight around him and pulling his orgasm from him. He's nearly a deadweight as he collapses on you, the frenzy of the sex dying somewhat as you come back to yourself, stroking his hair. Irene smiles at you, kissing your lips gently.

"Perfect, my beauty."


	169. Tension in the Lift- Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by flubber2kool: Greg and reader get stuck in a lift together, (Setting and reason for being there a writers discretion). There is an immediate attraction between reader and Greg and they are in the lift for so long that sexy things happen!
> 
> And based on what I decided for this one, I placed it in the appropriate place in the story (look at the chapter number)

You barely manage to catch the lift before the doors close; never have you been more relieved to finish a day of work. Your boss was more lecherous than usual, your computer crashed, and on top of everything else, the heel of one of your favorite shoes snapped off. Now you're just trying to get down to the street and hail a cab to get home because fuck if you're going to walk with a busted shoe.

"Hold the lift!"

You hear the voice and automatically throw your arm out between the closing doors, forcing them back open as... oh dear god. Detective Inspector Lestrade is in your lift. He's even more gorgeous up close, the reason for his 'Silver Fox' nickname even clearer now. He smiles kindly at you as he slips in and the doors close.

"Thanks for that. I was starting to think I'd have to risk the stairs. Who knows what Anderson and Donovan are up to there."

You giggle, blushing, and he smiles at you. "Greg Lestrade."

"Yeah, I know who you are," you tease, offering your name.

"So you're a Doctor Who fan?"

"What gave it away?"

He holds up his badge, winking. "Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector," just like Harriet Jones, Prime Minister does whenever she's around on the show. You share a look and both burst out laughing... just as all the power in the building goes out.

"Wh-what just happened?"

Greg groans, fishing out his mobile and checking it. "No service in here, it's always dodgy halfway down... must be a big power failure."

"How long will we be stuck here?"

"Dunno... if the backup generators come on-" You both hear a rumble as if the power's trying to come back on before the sound fizzles out. "Or not. So much for Scotland Yard in the winter. All the heat must have blown the power."

"Wonderful."

"It could be worse. I could be stuck in the lift alone instead of with a lovely young woman like yourself."

You find yourself blushing, rubbing the back of your neck a bit bashfully. Greg walks towards you, backing you against the wall of the lift. "May I?" He's clearly staring at your lips. You swallow hard, barely thinking about it before nodding.

He closes the distance and kisses you, pressing you against the wall. You're starting to lose yourself in it when you feel the lift shift slightly and you push him back. "We... we shouldn't be standing."

The DI gets a wicked glint in his eye and pulls you down, kissing you against the floor. "We shouldn't rock the lift too much, then, but what I have in mind doesn't require a lot of rocking." He kisses you again, his fingers pressing against you through your skirt. You gasp, blushing furiously. "I want to taste you," Greg says.

"Only if I can return the favor."

"What did you think I had in mind."

Oh you _naughty_ man. Smirking back at him, you pull up your skirt, helping free him from his trousers. He lays down and you lay down on top of him, your head by his lovely, thick cock and his mouth by your pussy. His fingers are already exploring, making you squirm and whimper, so you retaliate by licking him.

You both explore at first, getting to know each other before he laps at your folds and you wrap your lips around him. He moans into you, working a bit more intently now that you have him captive in your mouth. You stroke and suck on him, wishing you could see his face, or hear his voice other than his moans. You wonder what he's like in bed, how he puts his tool to use, what that wonderful voice you've barely gotten to sample is like barking orders, talking dirty. Just those thoughts have you more on edge, and you can feel him tensing beneath you, against your tongue. You rock against his mouth, sucking him further down as best you can when he starts teasing your clit. Hardly fair play as you cum almost instantly from the sudden, intense stimulation. You redouble your efforts through your post-orgasm haze and pull him over as well.

The both of you are panting and giggling on the floor when the power suddenly comes back on and the lift begins moving. You scramble to put yourselves back together as you reach the ground floor, walking out into the lobby of Scotland Yard.

"Will I get to see you again?" he asks, genuinely wanting to. You smile at him.

"Shall we skip to dinner, then? Since all the... _formalities_ are over?"

He winks at you and takes your hand. "I think I can manage dinner."


	170. The Right Color- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Heyoo!: Could you do one where Sherlock works in a lingerie shop and the reader is really shy and Sherlock helps her find a lacy set and he takes her in to the fitting rooms?! Please?! <3 Love you two for posting these.

You wander into the shop, more than a bit nervous as you eye all of the silky intimates and lacy things on the shop window dummies and hanging on the racks. Everything is very skimpy and bound to show a great deal of skin, but that is rather the point. In case you ever get a boyfriend, you'd like to own one sexy thing you can wear for him.

"Can I help you find anything?"

You turn around at the voice and nearly faint. The man standing before you is tall and drop-dead stunning, his dark hair wild and curly, his eyes blue-green with gold flecks. His face is an odd yet endearing shape, and he's thin but wiry.

"Are you looking for anything in particular? This would be your size, yes?" He holds up a black and red teddy from one rack and you check the tag.

"Y-yes, it is." If he speaks again, you might not make it to the door. You know you're blushing and that he can see, but he's eyeing you curiously, almost smirking. "I-I guess I'm looking for something... sexy," you finish lamely, almost as red as one of the bras nearby. You look at the clerk's nametag. "Sherlock," you murmur. "That's an unusual name."

"And I'm far from a usual individual. Let's see, with your complexion and in your size, we have... ah!" He leads you unerringly to several racks, pulling a variety of very intimate and revealing articles of clothing. "Would you like to try a fitting room? Make sure these are satisfactory, which they will be?"

"You're very sure of yourself," you say as he leads you to the back of the shop.

"Because I'm always right." His eyes linger on the dark purple one as he hands you the stack of things. "Let me know if you require any assistance," he murmurs before walking back out front.

You look at everything in your arms, finally deciding on the purple one. He really seemed to like it. You strip and pull it on, the fabric comfortable and snug, offering plenty of support without crushing or constricting... you face the mirror and contrary to almost every other time you've looked at yourself like this, you think you look damn hot.

"Sherlock? Sherlock could you come here a moment?"

You hear his footsteps, and he opens the door, closing it behind him before taking a look at you. You can actually see his eyes darken as he looks at you, how his posture changes.

"Do you like it? I think the purple might be my favorite."

"It's mine as well... you look like a minx, quite the tempting little creature. Is there any particular reason you called me back here?"

"You're clever enough to figure it out for yourself, aren't you?"

It turns out that questioning his intelligence is a wonderful way to rile up Sherlock. He pins you to the wall and kisses you in response, and your entire body starts humming. You know you're getting wet and you don't care, all that matters is his _sinfully_ skilled tongue sneaking into your mouth and his long (oh dear god very long) fingers in your hair.

"Does that answer your question?" you whisper when you break for air, his lips exploring your neck.

"I think my next move will seal the deal," he purrs, slipping two fingers into the slit in the knickers that runs just under your entrance. You feel his fingers slipping into you as he sucks on your neck and your legs nearly give out. His fingers can reach so much deeper than your ex, and they seem to know what they are doing. He's curling them now, making you squirm until they brush your g-spot. You gasp and stiffen and he chuckles, pulling them out and licking them off before kissing you again.

"And those were just my fingers," he growls, and you look down as he reveals his cock, long and curved, the perfect weapon. You fumble for your purse, pulling out a condom and handing it to him. He puts it on and pins you to the floor, pushing into your sex, burying himself to the hilt as you wriggle beneath him. His pace is torturously slow at the start, so much so that you think you may go mad, but he soon smirks at you and sets a faster rhythm, moving his body as if he's born to be a lover. Every gasp and noise and movement you make has him responding. He's in perfect tune with your body, able to practically read your every thought. You tug at his hair, his hands on your breasts, your clit, his scent everywhere, covering you until you think you might break. He senses this and his fingers clamp down on your clit and you cum, arching your back off the floor and fighting the urge to scream. He follows, pounding you hard and deep until he fills the condom and slows to a stop, pulling out and laying beside you. You look at him, giggling quietly.

"What is so amusing?"

"Guess I'm buying this one."


	171. Claiming- Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ecoli: Can we have another chapter like Chapter 1? Victorian-ish times, with Sherlock positively worshiping narrator's body, a lot of teasing, and Sherlock's sexy voice?

"Where are we going, my love?"

"Shhhh, dear. Almost there."

The corridor is dark as Sherlock leads you to a room at the end. He opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. When it closes, barely any light from the hallway trickles in, so Sherlock lights one of the lamps; it's dim glow flickers as he hangs it on the wall, throwing his slender frame into light and shadow. His long, curly hair is pulled back in its usual low ponytail at the nape of his neck, bound up with a purple ribbon that matches the shirt beneath his coat. If you're going to admit it to yourself, his clothes look as if they're about to burst as they always do, and it's as if his tailors make everything just a bit too small... but that just means you always see so _much_ of his form. Many things are still in your imagination, such as how pale his skin must be beneath his many layers. You wouldn't know yet with the wedding still a few weeks away.

Sherlock takes your hand, pulling you into a warm embrace, his lips resting on the top of your head. "We won't be missed for ages yet, my sweet," he purrs, kissing down the side of your face very slowly. "Don't think I didn't see you looking at my older brother when we were at the party."

You blush a bit, biting your lip. "Why-why would you think that, Sherlock?"

"Because I know what Mycroft is like when he sets his eyes on what is _mine_."

A shiver runs through your body as his voice drops to an animalistic growl by your neck, feeling the words against your skin almost as much as hearing them. "But how is he to know I'm yours? I'm only wearing the engagement ring, we're not married yet. I've never even-" You stop, flushing brilliantly with embarrassment.

"Made love, my sweet?"

Your gasp is enough of an answer for him before he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you soundly, far more forcefully and passionately than your previous kisses. You open your mouth and his tongue slips between your lips, a very curious sensation but one you rather admit to liking. His hands are working on your bodice, or rather, they are trying. Bursting into giggles, you pull back and turn around, letting him undo all the blasted lacings. "But what if my parents find out? What if my father-"

"Your father is too busy bowing and scraping to Mummy and Father to have any interest in what we are doing right now, my sweet." He drops pieces of fabric and dress to the floor, green and gold falling away until you're in your simple white shift. Before you let him take it off, you step forward and slide his tailcoat off, setting it on a chair. Fingers fumbling a little, for men's clothes are strange to you, you help him undress, revealing more pale, beautiful skin than you had imagined. He seizes you and kisses you again as his shirt falls to the floor and your inquisitive fingers explore his chest. He's more muscular than he appears, and he has a faint trail of dark hair leading below his breeches. Your cheeks flame again when you think about what the bulge is that strains beneath the fabric of his trousers.

His hands are working too, pulling off your shift. You shiver as it's removed, the air in the room chill against your heated skin. "Sherlock... are you sure?"

"I want to make sure there's not a shadow of a doubt that you belong to me and _only_ me." He lays you on the bed, leading you to realize that this must be his room. He pulls out the pins and things from your hair, despite your protests.

"You ought to let your hair down more, and I know exactly how it's done. I can put you back together afterwards in no time."

Swallowing, you try to lay still, looking up at your fiancé. His bright eyes observe you, taking in every detail. "Every bit as beautiful as I deduced and more. Aren't I the lucky boy."

"Me? No, not compared with your Grecian sculpture of a body." Your legs are pressed together and you feel so nervous, so unsure of yourself. Sherlock kisses you gently, his hands stroking up and down your arms. "Relax, don't hold yourself so stiffly. This should be a coupling of passion, two bodies joining together in fire and sex and pleasure. Don't let what everyone else says cloud your judgment of it. It's quite fun."

"So you're experienced?"

"I've experimented. I know how to bring women pleasure. For example." He bends his head and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking on it gently. You gasp in surprise, moaning softly and tossing your head against the pillow. His hand teases the other, rolling it between his fingers and tugging gently until you're nearly sobbing with pleasure. You can feel dampness and warmth between your legs, and you know you're craving _something_ but it's infuriating to not know exactly what.

Sherlock doesn't stop there, kissing down your stomach, all the way down to your thighs. "Goodness, but you're eager." Before you can say anything, his tongue darts out and laps at your sex, his hands spreading your legs wider as he works his mouth. You reach down, managing to grab his ponytail; when you tug, he growls and works harder, making you moan a little bit louder each time. Suddenly, you feel something pressing inside you... oh god, it's his _finger_. You feel it, trapped inside of you as he pumps and curls it, working you with it until you realize that you're begging for more. The second one feels even stranger and hurts a little, but Sherlock slows down, scissoring them to stretch you.

"You're so tight, you're going to feel like heaven wrapped around my cock."

"I didn't know... it could be like this..."

"What, pleasurable? That's what people don't seem to understand. They insist on making it painful and boring simply because it indulges a few... _carnal pleasures_."

Hearing him say those words against your clitoris has you squirming. You feel like every fiber of your body is wired through that one spot at the moment, and any time he touches it, sparks seem to shoot through you.

Soon though, he withdraws his fingers and pulls off his breeches, letting you see his long, hard organ as it juts up proudly from between his legs. "I'm hard for you, my precious girl, my sweet." He starts to push in where his fingers just were. Sherlock hovers over you, staring into your eyes and murmuring words of encouragement as he fills you up. "You'll grow accustomed to it. The first time is always the most difficult. Your vagina is a muscle, just like every other muscle in the body. Exercise it, and it becomes strong." He seals his mouth over yours and bottoms out, burying himself inside your body.

You feel like you're on fire, but you don't want it to stop. You cling to Sherlock, kissing back as he starts to move. He rolls and thrusts his hips, pulling out only to sink back in.

"Move with me, my sweet. Both of us, in tandem, fucking back and forth."

Your eyes roll back and you relax, feeling the rhythm of the bodies entangled now in the sheets. A new scent is in the room, the smell of sex, you suppose, as he makes the bed creak and rock. Your hand finds his ponytail again, tugging experimentally. Sherlock growls and starts sucking on your neck, his hips moving a bit faster than before. You feel your muscles twinge, but pleasure pours in seconds later to soothe the pain. You're moaning and gasping his name, and his voice just gets lower and lower and lower.

"I'm going to fill you up, my sweet, and after tonight, we shall make love over and over again until we've learned everything there is to know about each other, and we won't stop there. We shall experiment, try new positions, new ways of doing this so it never grows dull and boring and we never become like our parents. I _love_ you, now break for me. Let me feel you climax!"

Your body arches as he touches your clit and you're gone, kissing him to keep from screaming. You feel him pour into you a moment later, his movements slowing as he finishes inside you. Sherlock slips out, leaving you empty and a bit sore before rolling to one side, looking at you very smugly. "It was good, wasn't it?"

"Good? Sherlock, that-that was bloody fantastic if you'll pardon my vulgar language."

"I'm rather surprised you know that word at all."

You smile, looking at him and then up at the ceiling. "There are many words I've learned from the servants... you'll just have to deduce which ones."

"With _pleasure_."


	172. All Wound Up- John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Patsy: I have a kind of weird request: John and Greg on a double date. John and his date both have very nosy flatmates so they haven't shagged and they are super horny for each other so they sneak away during the date to get it on! Maybe in the alley behind the restaurant? Bonus points for them coming at the same time. Double bonus points if Greg figures out what they're up to.
> 
> Requested by Norwaycat: - I loved military!John and would love some more, mentioning of dog tags or include them in some way (dog tags are sexy!)
> 
> Requested by Timelady: I was wondering if you could possibly add a bit more John, I don't really mind how you do it but whatever you come up with it will be great <3

You're completely famished when you arrive at dinner, among other things, but the sight of your solid, blond boyfriend helps steady you. John greets you with a warm hug and a slightly indecent kiss, but there's good reason. You've been dating for a full month now, and you've gotten _nothing_. The furthest you got was second base at his place before Sherlock (right terror of a grown up twelve-year-old that he is) walked in and started raving, and at your place... well, your flatmate is far keener on John than you'd like. With that and work and John always having to dash off for Sherlock, you've grown quite desperate.

The pair of you break apart to walk in and find your table, Greg and his girlfriend Sarah already there; they look quite relaxed and content, not at all as wound up and fit to burst as you feel, and they both just look so happy together, all lovey dovey, and why not? Greg's well rid of his cheating wife and he's clearly smitten with Sarah. John squeezes your hand under the table as you sit down and order food, chatting easily with the others. Your legs are pressed firmly together as you try to ignore how warm and nice smelling John is.

The place is bustling with activity, and the food is taking forever to arrive, and you finally snap. You want John and you want him _now_. "I'm just gonna pop to the loo," you say to the table, whispering something different in John's ear. " _Alley, two minutes_."

He nods slightly as you slip out of the restaurant and around the corner. John joins you a moment later, and you don't even speak. You drag him against the wall and kiss him as hard as you can muster. He groans, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and tugging, prying your lips open with his tongue and delving into your mouth. You can taste a hint of the beer on his lips, on his tongue too when you suck on it.

"Fuck me, John," you gasp, grinding against him, pressing his hand against the crotch of your damp knickers. "I need you _now_."

His eyes sparkle wickedly and he hoists you up, slamming you against the wall as he pushes your knickers aside and pulls a condom from his pocket. When you finally see his cock, you grin. It's stocky but looks firm, just like him, and it's a very decent size, just this side of indecently thick... he _feels_ amazing too, filling you all the way up until you want to scream.

You can see his dog tags under his jumper, and you pull them out as he starts thrusting, your breath catching in your throat. "Do you like how I feel, _Captain_?" you purr in his ear, clutching the tags.

He growls and bites your shoulder, moving faster, sliding in and out of you, filling your ears with the sound, you nose with his scent. "You better believe I do, _civillian_ ," he purrs back, circling his hips before pressing his tip to your g-spot, making you whimper. "I've been dreaming about your cunt for weeks, how it would feel, how it would taste." You feel his finger at your entrance before you see him pop it in his mouth, groaning softly.

"We don't have long, they might find us."

"Hold on tight then, civillian." You grip his tags in your fist as he uses you, moving in quick, precise thrusts with his fingers toying with your clit until you arch and bite your fist, muffling your cry of pure pleasure. He follows you over the edge, filling the condom and holding you steady. He helps to set you back down on your feet as he cleans up, disposing of the condom. You each try and help put the other back together as best you can before returning separately to the restaurant just as the food arrives.

Greg and Sarah help you serve, but the DI is looking between the two of you, smirking knowingly and winking at you. You blush, staring into your steak as John merely grins, holding your hand under the table, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand before tracing a very distinct heart on the skin. You look up at him, and he smiles back at you, kissing you sweetly before you both go back to the dinner conversation.


	173. Greg- Crap first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Mara: I just have one prompt I have been wanting to see. Greg with the Reader, and it's their first date and it is bad. Like laughably awful from start to finish (inept waiters, reservation lost, purse stolen, whatever), and yet they bond over the sheer awfulness and end the night in a hot shag. I just think they both have had their share of really bad dates, but maybe not with happy endings.
> 
> Requested by Norwaycat: - Some more of Lestrade on a motorbike would be amazing!

You've probably changed your blouse at least five times, and when you hear his motorbike rumble up to the curb, you’re still not really sure you’re wearing the right thing. Still, you grab your purse and a sweater and head downstairs to meet him. Greg’s silvering hair flashes in the lamplight of the early London evening as he shoots you and easy smile. A flush tinges your cheeks when he hands you his spare helmet and pins a rose to your sweater as you fasten the strap of the helmet beneath your chin. You climb onto the bike behind him and motor off down the street.

You arrive at the restaurant easily enough (a nice Italian bistro), but when you both approach the maitre’d he tells you that there is no reservation for “Lestrade, party of two.” Greg frowns and speaks quietly with the man for a few minutes until he relents… and makes you wait thirty minutes until a table frees up. Your date apologizes several times, but you just smile and wave it off, saying it’s all fine. When you are finally both seated, the waiter spills water all down the front of your blouse. You're not sure if you're more embarrassed by Greg’s fussing over the spill or the fact that he can now see through the fabric to your bra.

Thankfully, the appetizers come out without a hitch, but you know it is too good to be true. You both have to send your entrees back because they are barely cooked, and Greg looks like he might haul an investigative team into the restaurant for fouling up his date. The look on his face sends you into a fit of giggles that proves to be infectious. By the time you both head back to his bike, you're howling with laughter at how absolutely horrible the whole thing had been.

“I’m really sorry, that’s certainly one way to bollocks up a first date.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“How’s that?”

“Take me for a spin? Show me London at night?”

Greg smiles and helps you onto the motorbike. You speed off through the city, exploring Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, speeding down London Bridge and then driving along the Thames until you head back up towards Parliament and Westminster Abbey. The city looks alive and elegant, regal, and you hold on tighter as your journey slows down and finally stops outside of a building you're not familiar with.

“Would you like to come up? A drink before I get you home?”

You nod, flushed and a little out of breath from the ride. He chains up the bike and leads you upstairs to his small apartment. It’s a bit cramped but cozy; you shrug out of your sweater and set it down with your purse on a table.

“What can I get you?”

“Wine?”

He opens a bottle of red and pours two glasses, handing you one and lifting his. “To second dates being a hell of a lot better than that.”

You grin and sip your drink, really getting a good look at the Detective Inspector. He’s quite handsome in a slightly older and rough way. You take a step forward and pretend to trip, spilling your drink on his shirt and then apologizing. He looks up at you and has this twinkle of understanding in his eyes. You stare as he sets his glass down and begins to undo the buttons and pull off his shirt.

Hello. _Sexy._

He’s quite fit and has more muscle than you originally thought, and his entire posture has shifted. He walks forward slowly but steadily, approaching you and backing you up against the wall. Greg just smirks and silently cups your breast through your blouse.

“I've not been able to take my eyes away from the way your tits look in that top.”

Warmth floods between your legs, and your knees buckle a little. “Really?”

“You haven't noticed? I've been staring all night, luv.”

You swallow hard and look up into his eyes, his bare chest so close you can feel his warmth. “Should… should we continue this somewhere else?”

He hoists you up onto the kitchen counter, winking and kissing your neck. “Oh no, luv. Right here will do just fine.”

You really flush now and the next few minutes are a hot and heavy scramble, mostly to “get your bloody shoes and jeans off.” You giggle as the trousers go flying, but the next thing you know Greg’s fingers are stroking you through your knickers. Heat flashes through your whole body and you let out a moan of desire. Greg keeps up the teasing as he pulls you forward and pulls your knickers aside. You realize through your lust fueled haze that he has not kissed you properly yet, but you forget that when you hear the tear of a condom wrapper. He’s pulled his gorgeously thick cock out of his trousers and is rolling on the protection before pulling you closer. He’s the perfect height for this low counter as he pushes into you, filling you up, the pair of you half dressed… and it’s the hottest thing you've ever experienced in your life.

Greg groans as he bottoms out inside you, and finally, finally, he kisses you. You can taste wine on his tongue as he strokes it against yours, moving slowly but sharply in and out of your body. You wrap your arms around him and pull closer, trying to get into a better position to move with your new lover. He senses your eagerness and picks you up, carrying you over to the table and laying you down on it. The height is much better and he is able to lay over you now, hovering over you and kissing down your chest and between your breasts where they bounce, still contained (barely, at this point) by your bra. You wrap your legs around Greg and pull him in closer, moaning his name. He gets a good fistful of your hair and tugs gently, and dear god if you don’t just melt right there on the table. He speeds up as you moan louder, the table sliding a bit on the floor, bound to leave marks. You cry out for him and he growls your name in your ear. One of his hands finds your clit and teases it, sending you into a sudden climax that has your whole body tingling. He follows soon after, filling the condom and almost collapsing on top of you.

Tired, well fucked, and very, _very_ happy, you run your fingers through his hair, laughing breathlessly. “That was… well then…”

He kisses your stomach and looks up at you. “Will that teach you to not spill wine on me?”

“If that’s the punishment, I'll need way more incentive not to.”


	174. Mycroft- Office Romance

It’s nearly five thirty in the morning when your phone buzzes. Blearily, you look at the number lit up on its glowing screen. You answer, your voice rough from sleep. 

“H’lo?” you manage to mumble. Its your temp agency, letting you know that they have a job for you for a month. It’s at the Old Bailey, of all places, and that wakes you up all the way. You put down ‘secretary work’ as some of your skills on your resumé, and apparently they took you up on it. So you shoot out of bed, shower and get dressed in your best ‘I’m a secretary who takes no nonsense’ outfit, then catch a cab to your new (if temporary) place of employment.

You're awed when you get there. Everything is stern and foreboding- and that includes your new boss as well. He’s tall, whip thin and gorgeous- an older man named Mycroft Holmes.

“My usual P.A. has, unfortunately, become quite ill. As much as it is an... inconvenience to go looking outside of my usual place to look for a substitute, I’m afraid that all of the people here are staggeringly incompetent. I looked over your resumé personally, and I must say that I was impressed with what I saw. You will be working beneath me directly, and will, as such, direct any questions that you may have to me. Is that understood?” He says all of this and you have to stop yourself from drooling. Good GOD is he fit. And when he said ‘working beneath me directly, your mind drove directly into the gutter. Hopefully you keep your Day-Glo blush hidden and nod in response to his speech. He offers you a thin smile. “Excellent. Come along, then- we're wasting valuable time.”

The days pass and slowly turn to weeks. Mycroft keeps you busy, but that doesn't make him pushy or demanding. He lets you have a good long break for lunch and you find that he’s fond of sweets, especially pastries. And there’s something else you've noticed, though you're not sure if you've imagined it or not- Mycroft has taken to staring at you when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s the week before you're due to leave when he calls you into his private office and motions for you to shut the door behind you.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask, heart in your throat.

“Yes, I did,” he says, though he’s slightly distracted. e seems lost in thought for a moment before he clears his throat. “What I wanted to see you about is that I know your time here will soon be over, and I was... wondering if you would.. ah... like to meet sometime out of work. For a... a drink or a meal,” he says. You blink, then smile.

“Mycroft, if you're asking me out for a date, you don't have to ask twice. I've had a crush on you since I saw you,” you admit, your face flushing a bright red. He looks a little taken aback, then he smiles and it’s not a happy one- this smile is predatory and makes the space between your thighs heat.

“Well then- let’s skip the drink and dinner and get right down to what we both want, shall we?” he says. He stalks towards you, then pulls you towards him in a nearly crushing embrace, his mouth sealed over yours in a kiss that sears you to the bone. You respond with enthusiasm and soon he’s got you sitting on his desk, scattering papers everywhere- you make a mental note to pick them up later, as you know how organized he is, but that thought is blown out of your head when he does something that involves his tongue moving against yours, and his hands come up to cup your breasts.

Things go a little blurry after that- you don't remember him unbuttoning your blouse and pushing up your bra, nor do you remember undoing the button and zip of his impeccably pressed trousers. But his mouth is on your nipples and your hands are full of his hard cock, and its everything you've wanted. He groans as you squeeze gently, and you're rewarded with seeing his nearly flawless ‘British Gentleman’ veneer crack; there’s something burning behind his eyes and you want to revel in that. As that thought crosses your mind, he pulls you off the desk and turns you over so you're facing away from him. He pulls your skirt up and groans louder when he sees that you've worn stockings with a garter belt today.

“I’m going to have you like this,” he hisses into your ear, and you whimper in response, wanting him so badly it nearly hurts. “I've wanted to do this to you since I saw you walk in.” You can feel him rubbing his length against your soaking folds, hard and needy and you press back into him.

“Dammit, Mycroft, stop teasing and fuck me,” you beg. He growls and lines himself up, pausing with just the tip breaching your heated entrance. 

“I’m going to make you fall apart,” he promises, then drives himself into you in a few short, quick strokes, bottoming out on the third one. He growls again as he feels you clinging around him, hot and tight and so very wet. Then the thrust begin, punishing in their intensity, making you cling to the slick, smooth wood of the desk. The little cries are being pounded from your throat, and while one hand is holding hard to your hips, the other is going between your nipples and your clit, pinching and rubbing.

Finally, you do as he says and fall apart with a shriek of his name, fluttering around him as your climax runs over you with the force of an eighteen-wheeler. He follows not long afterward, groaning your name as well as he spills himself deep inside you. You feel him dislodge after a while, then (ever the gentleman) he helps you clean yourself up before you both rearrange your clothing. You both look remarkably unruffled, save for the ‘just been shagged’ glow that hovers around you and the state of his desk.

“Well then- I take it that my last week here is going to be a good one,” you say, smirking cheekily. His smile is one that is full of intention.

“Yes, my dear, I do believe it is.”


	175. Greg- Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LadyCorvidae wrote this for thebookworm214 when she needed some serious cheering up.

It's a very special day for you- November 5th. Also known as Bonfire Night or Guy Fawkes Day. You know the history behind it, but you honestly just like the bonfires and fireworks. It's a little celebration that you're fond of. And your boyfriend, Gregory Lestrade (a DI at NSY) is fond of it too, but more for your sake than for his. He's usually out on the streets, making sure that nothing gets too out of hand and that everyone stayed safe. Tonight, however, he's gotten the supreme luck of having a free evening.

"Come over to mine- we can make a night of it," you say. 

"Fine, just so long as we don't have to watch that stupid Vendetta movie- don't get me wrong, it's okay, but it's just so damn long," he half whines over the phone. You sigh and relent. 

"Fine, you big baby. Come over anyway and we can see what we can do to relieve our boredom," you shoot back. It's meant to be a bit of a biting comment, but you hear a long pause over the phone before he responds.

"I think I can do that. I'll bring over a bottle of something for us to share, yeah?" he says, and the way he's pitched his voice makes you shiver. You have a good idea of what might be on his mind to keep you both busy, and you have the distinct knowledge that you both will greatly enjoy it.

It's half eight when he shows up at your door with a bottle of wine in hand- a very nice red that you've had before. You meet him with a smile and a kiss (only a peck on the cheek, to his disappointment) before you gently shoo him away to take off his coat and set the bottle down. 

"Be a love and open the bottle and pour us some of that, Greg?" you call over your shoulder. "I'm just going to go freshen up a bit." He responds in kind and you slip into your bedroom. You have a set of sheer red lace lingerie that you got as a surprise; you were going to wear it for Valentine's Day, but this is just as good, and gives you an excellent excuse to break it in. You slip into it and do your makeup- just liner and mascara around your eyes, and the brightest shade of red lipstick that you can get away with. You slip on your highest pair of 'fuck me' heels and strut out into the kitchen. Greg is facing away from you and you smirk and stalk up behind him.

"Everything ready, sweetheart?" you purr. He turns and you can see his jaw drop and his pupils dilate. When he shuts his mouth, his eyes go predatory. 

"Oh yes. Very ready," he says, his voice husky. "Although I think we might have to save the wine for later. I found something much, much better to slake my thirst with." He guides you to the bedroom, gently steering you backwards, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He makes you sit down on the bed and he sheds his shirt and toes off his shoes as quickly as he can without getting tangled in them. Then Greg sinks to his knees in front of you, pushing you back so he can spread your thighs and rest between them. Your breath hitches in your throat when you suddenly realize the context behind his 'slake my thirst' statement. 

"Oh, darling, don't you look a treat?" he murmurs, kissing your soft inner thighs, making you jump a little. You can feel the warmth of his mouth, the heat of his breath and the soft rasp of stubble that makes you gasp and tangle your fingers into the duvet. He teases you like this, kissing just up to the curls of your sex through the red of the lace before moving away. 

Finally, you've had enough. "Goddammit, Greg, stop teasing!" you say. He looks up at you, his eyes so dark they look black. 

"Such an impatient brat, aren't you?" he smirks, making you scowl and cuff his head. He just laughs and pulls your knickers down, smiling smugly at the very wet patch that's formed at the crotch of them. As he pulls them from around your ankles, he takes off your shoes as well, leaving you in only the bustier and nothing else. He makes you spread your legs wider and moves your labia apart with his thumbs as if he's admiring you. You can't help but blush- even if he isn't your first lover, you're still not used to his adoring scrutiny. 

Then, oh then… he presses his mouth to you, lapping and sucking at your clit, drinking down the wetness that shines there. You moan and your hands move from the duvet to his grey hair as you fall backwards, arching your hips up into his kisses. "Oh fuck, Greg!" you whimper, half-breathless. He chuckles and the vibration shoots right through you, making you buck up in surprise.

He continues, driving you right to the very edge of orgasm. When you feel like you're right about to hit that peak, he moves away, his face shining with your wetness and his eyes nearly black with lust. 

"Why the hell did you stop?" you whine. He grins and wipes his face off with a forearm and begins to undress. Your complaints die in your throat. "I'm just fine with this being the reason why. Your mouth is divine, Greg, but your cock is transcendent," you tell him. Your compliment makes him groan hoarsely and hurry in his work. While he's busy, you wriggle your way out of the bustier and kick off your heels. You're spread, naked and wanting before him, watching him disrobe. Your hands move down to your sex to idly stroke yourself, keeping on edge just for him. When he's naked, cock hard and wanting, he watches you.

"Fuck," he growls as he sees your fingers dip into your entrance and move up to circle your clit. "Get that hand out of the way. I'm going to give you something so much better than your fingers." You obey and he damn near launches himself at you. He settles between your spread thighs and attacks your neck and collarbone with his mouth, teeth scraping across the tender skin as he ruts against you. You reach down between the two of you and guide him to your entrance. He groans as he slips inside, and you let out a breathless moan as you feel the hot, hard stretch of him sliding into you. 

Greg stills for a moment and then begins to move. You roll your hips up to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust. You're so very close to cumming that you can damn near taste it. 

"God, Greg- faster! Just a little harder," you beg. He snarls and complies, hissing as you move your hands down and dig your fingernails into that perfect arse of his. He withdraws nearly all the way and hovers for a moment, making you see him pulsing and slick with your wetness. Then he slams into you and that sets you off. You shriek and arch as your orgasm hits, making fireworks go off behind your eyelids. He groans your name and you feel him empty himself into you, spasming wetly as he fills you with his cum.

As you regain your senses, you realize that the fireworks weren't behind your eyelids- they were out your window. You smile as he slips out of you and wriggles you both under your duvet as the sweat cools on your bodies. 

"Happy Bonfire Night, luv," you murmur, pressing kisses along his shoulder. He smiles softly and wraps an arm around your waist. 

"Glad I could spend it with you. What say we make some more fireworks of our own later, hey?" he says and you chuckle. 

"Sweetheart, I couldn't ask for anything more," you tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're SO sorry we've been quiet for so long. However, thebookworm214 and myself are very, very busy... both with school and work. Prompts are closed until further notice, as we rarely (unfortunately...) have time to write nowadays. This is something we love doing, but real life must come first. Thank you all for being so patient with us, and we hope that you keep reading!


	176. Just Like Animals- Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your week has been craptastic, so you go to the club to let off some steam.

You go out to the club for a much-needed night of blowing off steam. Your week has been utter shite, and you want to drink and dance and just make everything fade into the background. With a vodka in your hand, you sip through a straw, looking at the dance floor, trying to find an opening. The song “Animals” by Maroon 5 comes on and you just have to get out there. You set down your empty drink and push your way through the crowd of people to dance. You are utterly incapable of caring if you look stupid or not- you just want to feel the beat.  
 _Baby, I’m preying on you tonight- hunt you down, eat you alive. Just like animals, animals, like animal-mals._  
 _Baby, there’s nowhere you can hide, I can smell your scent for miles. Just like animals, animals, like animal-mals._

Suddenly, you feel a pair of large hands on your hips, making you start. Grinding against your bum is a tall, well-muscled blonde man. He’s dressed in leather trousers, lace-up boots and an open black vest sans shirt, showing off his chest and the fact that he has pierced nipples. You turn to face him, looking up into his rugged face. He smirks and it does something to your insides, making them fluttery. He leans down and says something into your ear, over the pounding of the bass.

“Name’s Seb,” he says, half shouting. “Figured that you were in want of someone to dance with, so I thought I’d oblige.” You have no complaints, and tell him as much. The way he gyrates against you is utterly indecent, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the crush of people, but you’ve started to grow very warm. Taking a breath, you stand on tiptoe to get his attention and ask a question that you never thought you’d ever say to a man you just met.

“D’you want to get out of here?” you ask, your mouth practically touching his ear. The grin that he shows you is feral.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask,” he purrs. Taking your hand, he pulls you through the crowd and out to the cold of the streets. There’s a motorcycle parked in the alley, and it makes you gulp. You’ve never been on one, and they make you nervous. Seb picks up on this and squeezes your hand reassuringly.

“Relax, love. Hold on to me- I promise to be careful,” he says, flashing those sharp teeth in another smile. You get on, winding your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back as he puts on the helmet and revs the machine into life. The vibration between your thighs makes you squeak, and you swear you can hear him laugh. Soon, you’re on your way back to his flat, eyes shut against the wind. He parks and helps you off in a gentlemanly fashion and on the way up to his, snogs you nearly breathless in the elevator. His hands are pinning yours over your head and his mouth is drawing the strength from your legs, you swear it. That’s the only reason why your knees are buckling and you have to lean against the wall for support. The glazed look in your eyes as he pulls away makes Seb chuckle.

“Oh sweetling, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” he draws, low and dark into your ear. The promise in his voice is utterly indecent and you can feel your pants soak through with how much that turns you on.

You make it to his and barely get the door closed behind you before you’re attacking each other’s clothing. Unfortunately, leather trousers are tricky to get out of, so Seb is cursing and hopping up and down as he tries to shimmy out of the tight material, making you laugh.

“Shut it,” he says, though he’s laughing as well. “And you can help.” That gives you a splendid idea- oh, you certainly could.

“Oh yes- let me help,” you say, a leer curving your mouth upwards. You make him stand still and you undo the fly more before tugging the trousers down to the top of his thighs. He’s not wearing any pants- which is probably the most logical decision for an ensemble like this, but still, to see the glorious sight of his rapidly hardening cock without any anticipatory buildup is a bit sudden. Not like you’re going to complain, though. Pulling down the trousers a little more, you lick a hot stripe up the length of him, making Seb gasp and groan. You take him slowly into your mouth, savoring the heat and weight of his cock on your tongue, running it over and around him. You take him as deep as you dare to go before withdrawing, pausing to suckle on the tip of him. He bucks into your mouth, his fingers winding into your hair.

“Christ, that’s not playing fair,” he says. You grin.

“Who said anything about playing fair?” you ask, arching one eyebrow. He growls- honest to God growls- and you’re flat on your back on the rug in front of the fireplace, which you’ve just noticed is an actual tiger’s skin.

“Fine- you want it unfair? I can repay in _spades_ ,” he hisses. The rest of both of your clothing is soon done away with and he’s kissing his way down your body, making you squirm. He gets to the thatch of hair between your legs and grins before parting your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue has you gasping and threading your fingers through his blonde hair. He has a tongue stud- how you missed it when he had said appendage halfway down your throat earlier, you’ll never guess, but the touch of the metal against your sensitive flesh drives you wild. He works his magic, sucking and licking and then adding fingers and sliding inside you, curling and stroking just so. You shudder your way into an orgasm, crying out in wordless pleasure as he stops and moves away, his face wet from your sex. He’s very pleased with himself, wiping his mouth and chin, letting you calm down a bit as he reaches into his wallet for a condom. You watch as he rolls it on, his length twitching, and you can feel yourself start to spiral up again. He runs the tip of himself along your folds and ever so slowly presses inside you. He grits his teeth and hisses, closing his eyes with an almost pained look as he bottoms out.

“Fucking Christ, love, you’re so tight and wet,” he groans. You wrap you legs around his hips and use your inner muscles to grip and squeeze him. Seb gasps and his hands go to your hips, keeping so tight a hold you know that you’ll have bruises. He takes it as permission and starts to move, going slow at first, but then going faster as your hips start to buck up into his, reciprocating.

You reach up and drag your nails down his back, leaving red lines in the skin. He hisses as the sweat he’s working up stings, and it makes him go faster, harder. You can barely tell what you’re saying anymore- you’ve been calling his name, cursing, praising, encouraging- but now you’re nearly senseless with pleasure and the sounds that you’re making are running together. He moves a hand down to thumb gently at your clit.

“C’mon- cum for me again, love. Want to feel you around me,” he murmurs. That does it- you shatter with a scream of his name, pulling him deeper into you as he groans and his hips stutter, joining you in completion.

After he pulls out and disposes of the condom, he wraps a blanket around you both as the sweat dries and makes the two of you colder. He kisses along one shoulder as you watch the fire, your back pressed to his chest. Suddenly, he snickers.  
“Just like the song, eh? _Just like animals._ ” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. You have to laugh- there’s no argument from you there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! So sorry that we've not posted anything. It's really hard to find time to write, since both thebookworm214 and I have jobs. The real world is kicking us both in the arse! Thank you so much for your patience- I hope you enjoy the chapter!


	177. Thank You For Everything!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last note!

Hello everyone!

It's been quite some time since either myself or thebookworm214 have posted anything. We've talked about this and agonized about it for a long time.

Dreams and Fantasies is officially closed/ended.

We aren't taking any more prompts, there won't be anything more added to this. Real life is very busy now for the both of us, and we honestly don't have the time, or the inspiration that we once had to complete these. We'd rather leave things where they are, rather than give you guys half-assed prompt fills.

Thank you, so much, for all of your prompts and your kind words- this wouldn't be the work it is without every last one of you.

Thank you for the reviews and the kudos, for the support and the views.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Submissions are closed, and this work has officially come to an end.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! It's been quite a ride (no pun intended!), and we couldn't have done it without every single one of you.
> 
> Be well, and take good care of yourselves!


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